


I know there are couples who never argue (but you and I, we are always going to fight for love).

by anxiouspunk



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, F/F, First Kiss, First time saying 'I love you', Fluff, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Marriage Proposal, Non-Explicit Sex, Pining, Pre-Relationship, but I love this line and it perfectly reminds me of rory and paris, but probably very little, but right now I’m not sure who, it’s really more...references then actual scenes, nothing scary I promise, probably more stars hallow characters I imagine will come up later, tags will be updated when I upload a new chapter, the rating won’t go above M, title’s after a line in a poem I forget the name of by andrea gibson, who’s my fav poet and I highly recommend if you like poetry about queer and social issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2019-10-30 18:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17834024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxiouspunk/pseuds/anxiouspunk
Summary: [it's a one-shot set. so, instead of having fics I've written that take ten hours to read and are uploaded every five years, enjoy all these small stories about these two nerds I love so much it's probably unhealthy].





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys, good to see you again. So, here's the thing, and I'll try to make it short.
> 
> Forever ago, I posted a fic that was part of a series called 'something wonderful', and that series was /supposte/ to have more parts to it, including a one-shot collection. Obviously, that didn't happen. I've tried to work on those parts and it hasn't been coming together, and tbh, I'm kinda tired of working on stuff for so long. I love writing these fics but they take me MONTHS, 3-5 if not more, and so because I still want to write I've decided I need to downsize, which I'm basically doing with all my fandoms/otps.
> 
> Ergo, a one-shot collection! This will really just be a giant pot of whatever I feel like. Some stuff will be from prompts, or it'll be just a random story I've written, and I'm trying to make all of them relatively small. Probably most will take part in the realm OF the 'something wonderful' universe (the reason I bring it up), which is really just Paris and Rory dating in the Yale years. But if that's not the case, I will specify in notes ahead. 
> 
> For now though, this one DOES take place in the Yale years, an old one-shot I polished up to finally post now. So please enjoy the first of hopefully many :)
> 
> (BTW this was under 1,000 words which I don't think is something I've ever done - for someone as wordy as me, that's an accomplishment LOL)

Paris was on a deadline.

 

She’d, unfortunately, been putting off this assignment and now it had finally crept up on her. Well, not _directly_ putting off to the point of ignoring. Paris Geller would never put school work on the back seat. But she was also an incredibly busy person, so a few chapters of the rather obscure and tedious seventeenth century french novel for her lit class wasn’t exactly high on her priority list.

 

However, that was besides the point. The point, is that she had to have them read by tomorrow, and so she had every intent to do so. She starts no soon after her and Rory’s lazy Sunday morning breakfast, both still in their comfy clothes of pj’s and underwear with no intents to really go anywhere else. She’d sat herself at the table and declared the next few hours to be put to finally completing these chapters.

 

Her girlfriend, however, seemed to have other ideas in mind.

 

Rory never exactly out right stated what she wanted. It was more Paris’s job to the blunt one between them. She will state her own opinions of course, and say what she wants in this relationship and when things aren’t working – it’s only in moments of tangled bedsheets and escalating make-outs that she’d suddenly revert into the blushing, shy school girl. Whenever she wanted something, or wanted something _done to her,_ Paris honest to god had to single it out and _dredge_ it out of her. She didn’t understand why; this was an important, good part of a healthy relationship and even if Rory could agree to that, it didn’t make it any more easier to be so _brazen_ about it.

 

Either way, it was clear to her that the brunette was running on hotter blood this morning. She was particularly touchy, cuddling up to Paris’s side and running hands down her back and arms, on whatever bare skin was exposed. She even pulled them into a side make-out while their breakfast cooked on the stove, nearly causing a small greasefire. This happens sometimes with Rory, and Paris doesn’t really worry about it, hormones happen and it’ll siphon off as they go about their day. Until she actually sat down with her required reading.

 

She managed to power through most of the book pretty quick. Rory buzzed around her, clearly, quietly, upset that Paris had put her attention towards work instead. She strayed close, poking her nose in and asking about the book and the class and whatnot until Paris stopped answering so she could focus.

 

Now, as Paris was on the last chapter, she’d started hovering. The blonde thought she’d walked off until she felt fingertips at the back of her head, messing around with the hair she’d pinned back. When it didn’t let up, she hisses,

 

“ _Rory.”_

 

“Mm?”

 

“ _Stop that.”_

 

“Why?”

 

Paris grit her teeth together at the playful tone “Because you’re trying to distract me.”

 

“I am not Paris – some of your hair came loose, I’m just fixing it.”

 

“Right – and you’ll sprout wings and fly next.” Paris grumbled, rather forcefully flipping to the next page “...Don’t you have homework to do too?!”

 

“Not _currently.”_

 

She can only sigh at that, trying to go back to the task at hand. She was doing her all to focus on the words, and on ignoring her probing girlfriend. She was almost back into the chapter until, suddenly, some of the fingers once in her hair started traveling down the back of her neck.

 

“Rory, if you _want something,_ please just say so then trying to keep me from passing my lit class!” 

 

“I don’t want something!” 

 

“Then stop doing that!”

 

“I’m not _doing anything..”_ Rory claimed. She continued to feather Paris’s hair though, fingers hooked and tugging down the strap of her tank top. Paris growled and finally slammed the book down on the table, open to her spot, so she could spin her head to glare at Rory.

 

“ _Look_ Gilmore, I’d love to buy what you’re selling, but unfortunately I _have_ to finish this last chapter. So if you can go idle around somewhere else so I can finish this, that would be great!”

 

She ended with a huff and  whipped her head back, picking up her book. Some dejected silence followed, fingers slipping off of her. Some shuffling she couldn’t really see past the pages. She must be headed back to the kitchen.  Paris sighed in relief.  _Finally;_ this was due in a  day, and she was not about to loose any of her good records and grades in sake of someone else, even her girlfriend.

 

Paris  got settled, and submerged  herself  back into the plot, picking up to where the main character –

 

“What are you doing?” 

 

Her underwear had  suddenly  been pulled  to the side and she looked down to the dark head of hair between her thighs. Rory smiles sweetly up at her from where she kneels in front.

 

“You can still read; no one’s stopping you.” She said simply “I’ll finish you before you finish the chapter.” 

 

Paris would never really find out if that was true. Because by about the fifth sentence, her head had dropped  back, her hand found it’s way into Rory’s hair  and she’d given up. 

 

Seventeenth century french novels were  really going to have to do a lot more to compete with her girlfriend’s tongue. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, welcome back! Thanks to all who left your support so far; I appreciate y'all so much :) Here's another one, this time inspirited by a prompt!
> 
> Scene: I don't know what it is about me and writing 'I love you' confessions, but apparently it's my favourite thing to do. Again, takes place in the Yale era (but outside my 'something wonderful' series).
> 
> Prompt: "I already ordered pizza for tonight."

Rory would guess this situation played a lot on irony.

 

It’s not so much that she was nervous – it was that in her life, since sixteen, being nervous had greatly overlapped with Paris a good handful of times.

 

High school threats, arguments, those moments when Paris is so wrapped up in her own head and storm she’s become a hurricane, even if Rory had become something of an expert at smoothing her back down now – all that, had made her rather nervous because being around Paris kind of forced you to be.

 

This however, as she stands staring down their front door, was a new kind of nervous that took much greater risk with it.

 

The _I love yous_ were sure to come, Rory knew that. They already cared about each other so much, and now after four months of delving into a romantic relationship, it shouldn’t surprise her that she found herself here. Here, six p.m after her late class that just held one of the most grueling exams she’s had, starving and wishing she had pizza with a stupid amount of cheese rather than her fretting nerves.

 

Or, how  she found the unsaid words lingering, hovering over heads, whenever she was with her girlfriend. And she knew Paris could sense it too, these second glances to her she thinks Rory isn’t noticing. What the issue was, see, is that Paris doesn’t frighten as easily as Rory does. She knows clear and cut how she feels about the brunette and therefore, wants to tell her. Paris has never held back before, why should she here?

 

This  would lead them to several moments of Paris  _trying_ to  lead Rory into this conversation . Moments whenever they were hanging out, where Rory could feel the sudden shift in the usual quiet, laid-back air of working on assignments or binging bad t.v. Paris would usually take in a deep breath, maybe straighten up, open her mouth to start segueing into  _Hey Rory.._ or  _There’s something I.._ whatever it may be.

 

And Rory? Rory would always find a way to run away. 

 

She doesn’t know _why._ She would just feel this sudden explosion of panic, this sharp twist in her stomach that would blare red alarms in her head _(get up! run away! there’s a difficult conversation coming up!)_ that would force her to spill some lie and rush off. She’d always been rather good at that.

 

So, what does she do  now  when she’s worked herself into a tizzy over her  relationship? She calls her mom.

 

“ _I get it kid – the I love yous are a big deal. If they weren’t, they wouldn’t use it in bad romcoms that force you to sit for two hours through terrible acting just to hear them say it.”_

 

“ _I..I just don’t know_ why _I’m feeling this way, why I keep running away!”_

 

“ _Well you love Paris don’t you?”_

 

“ _Of course I love Paris. I have for a long time, but, you know..now, it has much bigger attachments to it, and I’m scared that I just..won’t say it..”_

 

“ _Course it’s got bigger attachments. You know, maybe the fact that the first time it was ever said to you lead into disaster with that person breaking up with you, has freaked you out from ever talking about it with another person, which has now trained you to shoot off warning shots and head for the hills whenever it comes up.”_

 

“… _.I called for moral support, not to be psychoanalyzed, thank you.”_

 

“ _Hey, I only call em’ as I see em. But alright, no more Dr. Phil-ing.”_

 

“ _I just...I don’t want to ever loose Paris, and I guess I’m terrified that if she says it I won’t be sure enough to say it back, or I could even say it wrong, and she’ll freak out because that’s her specialty and it’ll all go down the drain.”_

 

“ _Yeah, remind you of any certain someone of your past that resorted in a break-up??”_

 

“ _Mom!”_

 

“ _Okay okay! I guess the I love yous have been rather turbulent for you. But Rory, Paris couldn’t be any different from_ any _of those guys even if she tried, and, no matter what, you’re going to have to have this conversation. There’s really no way out.”_

 

“ _I know; I’m actually shocked she hasn’t confronted me about it yet. It’s, you know...Paris is like a real life jack-in-the-box – I never really know what’s going to pop up after the wind up. What if..what if she’s actually trying to tell me it’s because she_ doesn’t _love me, or she doesn’t say it back, or..–”_

 

“ _You’re kidding right?”_

 

“ _No..?”_

 

“ _Kid. Please. Paris loves you so much it’s almost obnoxious. Have you ever seen the way she looks at you? That kid has the heart-eyes down_ packed.”

 

The growling from her stomach shook Rory out from the conversation rewind. She sighed; god she was so tired. But her mom was right, as she usually was in her backwards wisdom. There was no escaping this. The  _I love yous_ had to happen. She can only hope Lorelai was right about Paris. 

 

And at least, no matter how it goes,  she’ll be able to  get some pizza. 

 

She finally turned the lock to the door,  opening it up into the quiet house. She closes it, tossing her bag to the ground and her jean jacket onto the nearby coatstand. 

 

“Hey!” She called into the quiet, kicking off her flats “Par!” 

 

There’s some kind of grunt in reply. Rory walks out into the kitchen, finding her, as usual, amungst a swarm of next books and journals at the table. She comes up, leaning against as she observes the lake of notes. 

 

“Never not hard at work..” 

 

“Mm. I didn’t like my polisci essay, so I redid it and I’m just editing it now.” Paris told her, ignoring Rory’s mumbled _of course_ to look up at her “How was your exam?” 

 

“Grueling.” Rory sighed, running a hand down her face “I’m pretty sure half my brain melted out my ears by the end of it..”

 

“Well,” Paris got up from her chair, leaning over to gather another notebook from across the table “I’m confident it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle..” 

 

Rory said nothing to the bizarrely worded compliment (Paris’s favourite kind to make). Her other hand that wasn’t rubbing her eyes danced over the many sprawled papers on the hardwood, weaving over Paris’s many sticky pads and pens. 

 

Realizing the time, and how Paris had immersed herself in her work in a way that would be nearly impossible to remove her from, she figured this conversation had to happen now or it wouldn’t happen at all. And really, Rory had put it off long enough. Sadly dinner would have to be after; take out (an extra large pizza she’s already imagining), because Rory’s already tired and knows they’re both going to be more exhausted by the conversation when it’s finally done.

 

So, here she goes. She looks at Paris furiously underlining paragraph sentences and she sucks in a breath, rushing all out in one go,  


“We have to talk..”

 

Paris, finally, looks up from her storm of school work, giving a guarded look to Rory’s concern.

 

“..Well that sounds like mounds of fun..”

 

Rory sighs, shifting her wait to lean further against the table.

 

“Just amuse me, okay?..”

 

Paris waits, gages, watching Rory closely until making her decision. Considering how Paris has trained her replies to snap back quicker then lighting, it felt like it took forever for her to say something. Rory thought she was starting to look upset, the furrowed brow and lips pressed thinly together, but if she was she held it back.

 

“..Alright.” She huffs, slamming the book closed and turning to Rory, including folding arms “What is it now Gilmore?”

 

Rory straightens up as she prepares to leap into her speech, another deep breath in. She can do this. _They_ can do this.

 

“Okay, so –”

 

A knock at the door interrupts. Before Rory can even  react, Paris holds up a finger to her. 

 

“Hold on.”

 

Rory stutters as her speech falls on it’s knees, watching Paris drop her to walk across into the kitchen. 

 

“Wh-who’s..?” 

 

“Dinner.” 

 

“Dinner?” 

 

“ _Yes.”_ Paris reiterated, unzipping the wallet she’d left on the counter “I already ordered pizza for tonight.” 

 

Rory blinks back, not immediately processing what her girlfriend said.

 

“You-you ordered pizza?..”

 

“God, I know I had a twenty left in here somewhere..” Paris grumbled, digging deeper through her wallet “And _yes,_ I ordered pizza. I am capable of that in case you were worried. You already get back late from class on Tuesdays, plus, I knew you’d be tired from the exam, so I just went ahead and got it ‘cause I knew you’d want your favourite comfort food. Extra large cheese, meat on half, with ranch sauce and garlic bread – and _yes,_ before you ask, I got it from the other place, and not the other closer one down the road because you one claimed they don’t put enough garlic on their garlic bread and mentioned the mustache on their delivery guy creeps you out, which I _guess_ I can see...” 

 

Another knock, this time louder and with more haste. 

 

“Just a _second!_ Where the hell did I put that twenty – christ, I’m going to have to reorganize this whole damn thing again..” 

 

Rory went quiet, her mind buzzing away as she processed these events. Paris pre-ordered pizza, knowing Rory would want it after getting out tired from her class  and from her exam. She remembered the side orders, which was enough and Paris was plenty smart  enough to remember. But  then she made sure to get it from the other  restaurant as the second pizza place  _did_ have terrible garlic bread and the creepiest delivery guy (honestly, you’d be weirded out too if you saw the fuzz on his upper lip). 

 

And Rory hadn’t even said anything yet. 

 

Her realization clicked on like a light. 

 

“ _Where_ – ha! Got it!” 

 

Paris  yanked out the fresh twenty. She began marching over to the front door, but then Rory jumped up. She grabbed her shoulder and spun her back, receiving a very confused and frumpled look.

 

“What?!..” 

 

Without thinking, Rory clasped the back of her neck and pulled Paris into a heavy kiss. There was a second of resistance from pure surprise alone, and then right after Paris kissed her back,  meeting her enthusiasm.  Knowing  it couldn’t go too far, Rory reluctantly pulled away  after a dew heated seconds, untangling them. 

 

Paris was now a little more dazed, blinking away the haze from the kiss, but still remained confused. Rory met the look secretly asking  _what the hell was that for?_ by nervously, though giddily, pressing her lips together and  saying,

 

“I love you.” 

 

There’s a long silence. Paris can only stare back at her and Rory’s trying to read her shock, see if it was just from not expecting or if it was something she had to worry about and/or run away from.  Then, finally, Paris sighed out and her head dipped down. 

 

“Oh thank god..” 

 

Rory couldn’t help it. A laugh came out, head shaking. Paris quickly realized her words, head whipping back up and red over cheeks.

 

“I mean..– I-I’m sorry..” She stuttered, trying to regain herself by straightening up “I figured, whatever you were going to talk about just now _had_ to be about how we’ve yet to say these fated words to each other, _or_ how every time I seem to get up the gall to do so you suddenly run off making me think maybe you didn’t actually feel the same way back which _then_ made me feel sick enough to my stomach that I might actually puke –”

 

“Paris.” Rory quickly caught this train before it derailed, giving a smile “..It’s okay. Sorry I was..skirting, around, before..”

 

The  _that’s okay too_ is unspoken; it’s all the way Paris smiles back, brightening in the moment of rarity. She cups Rory’s cheek and pulls her in again  to kiss her  long and  languid. Rory let herself smile into it, grasping onto her waist. Their reality began slipping  away  a bit in the background  as Rory let Paris push her back against the table, hips against hers, the kiss developing further and further – 

 

A third knock – no, annoyed  pounding – nearly broke through the door. 

 

“ _Alright!”_ Paris roared back, ripping away. Rory again, swallowed her grin, the back of her hand covering her mouth. 

 

She leaned past so Paris could reach over and grasp the twenty she’d left on the table, grumbling threats under her breath. She stomped away to the door to finally release the delivery guy of his duties, but only gets about half-way there before spinning around to Rory.

 

“I’ll be coming back to this.” She threatens, pointing over. 

 

“Oh I expect nothing less.” Rory quipped back, making sure to toss her hair dramatically over her shoulder for good measure. She just catches another brief smile on Paris before she spins back.

 

While the  _I love yous_ were very important and Rory was glad it was said and done, she was even more glad that Paris understood her enough to let her have her pizza first before she laid Rory back on the bed and made good on her threats.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again! So, I made this post over on tumblr (@paris-geller-was-straightwashed, if you're new and wanna hear me scream about gellmore), about how my favourite poet (the one who wrote the line that's the title of this) wrote this poem on how this girl they were seeing had a stethoscope and got them to use it when they kissed her so they could hear her heartbeat sped up as they did. And I thought about how Paris, as a medical student, probably has access to medical tools and basically, how adorable it would be if Rory tried it and kissed Paris, hearing her heartbeat speed up as she did. And, because I can't help myself, this was born. So, enjoy!
> 
> Scene: Rory agrees to help Paris with studying for a medical exam, which develops much differently than either thought. Yale years, obviously.

“This is so cool they let you have this stuff.” 

 

Paris looked over at Rory from where she stood over her desk, who was curiously inspecting the  spread of medical supplies on  the bed. She shrugged in reply.

 

“It’s only borrowed from the school. It’s just so we can demonstrate if we know how to properly use the instruments.” Paris explained, sliding her binders back into her bag “Which, honestly, by now we should so this feels a little like overkill. But I guess it can’t hurt to be over prepared – and weed out those dumb enough not to know the difference.”

 

Rory didn’t say anything back. She was too busy using the  reflex hammer  on the inside of her elbow, watching her arm  instinctively spring up with glee. Paris snorts, breaking out into a grin. Of course she was doing that. Rory must’ve heard her as her head came up, meeting Paris’s adoring gaze, so the blonde had to quickly whip away, hiding the red over her cheeks. Behind her, Rory  pressed her lips together to swallow her smile, head coming down.

 

This dance around had been happening for months.  These hidden smiles, hidden red cheeks,  hidden signs that there was a secret  _more_ brewing underneath. Paris hadn’t wanted to entertain any such idea at first, because to do so would be  ludicrous. But slowly, the longer school has stretched out, the more time they’d spent so close to each other, there was no denying it. She loved Rory. She probably always had; after all, Rory is the only person she’s ever cared about. She was everything; brilliant, talented, well-read, funny, and not to mention her best friend. Rory had her in the clutch of her hand, and in the end Paris just had to  succumb to that. 

 

However to mention this would be suicide. Rory would never reciprocate; c’mon, who was she kidding? Rory dated boys. She’d never want her, never want to date a _female_ best friend. Or, at least, so she’d thought. Because once Paris was sure she was doing to be taking these feelings to the grave, the winds suddenly changed. Rory seemed to be paying more attention to her. More smiling. More ditching plans to hang out with her and watch t.v reruns. Longer hugs, fingers lingering on the small of her back. It’s enough that Paris is sure she was going crazy; part of her seeing it happening, the other somehow certain she was just exaggerating it all. Making it up because there’s no way Rory feels the same. And, no matter how great the idea seemed, Paris wasn’t going to torture herself by bringing it to life, of the thoughts of Rory confessing those same feelings back. No matter how amazing she’d think it would be to finally bring those baby pink lips to hers

 

Paris tries to focus back into reality, and not in the exact details of an imaginary kiss with her best friend.  Now was not the time. She can’t keep stringing this lie to herself.  So she puts aside the papers on her desk, and clears her throat. 

 

“At any rate, thanks for being my guinea pig; I can pretty much use these blindfolded, but again, another run through never hurt anyone.” She walks back over, tentatively sitting on the edge of the bed next to Rory. The brunette was in her lazy-night best; yoga pants with a holey shirt that read _Sunnydale 95’_ on it, and hair up in a messy bun. 

 

How she still managed to seem so pretty without any literal effort at all, will always remain a frustrating mystery to Paris.

 

“S’ok. I don’t mind.” 

 

“Well, I’m sure you had better offers for your Friday night..” 

 

“Eh, my tenth re-read of _Wuthering Heights_ isn’t really going anywhere..” Rory shrugged, after bringing up a finger to Paris “..I do get a sucker after this though right?”

 

Paris scoffs, another smile  as she sorted her things “ If you’re a good enough patient to sit through it  all – you’re  okay with needles right?”

 

“What?!”

 

Paris flicked her eyes up, letting her smile show. Rory’s panic quickly dissolved, resulting in an eye roll, though the laughter shined through the bright blue.

 

“..You need other friends. I’m starting to rub off on you.”

 

“Any more quip backs from you Gilmore, and I can easily take the toy basket away. Now, sit up.”

 

Paris quickly got to work, wasting no time like always; there was going to be a test on this stuff after all, and she was anything if not completely prepared when it came to those. Rory was a perfectly good patient, responsive and only occasionally quippy. She seemed thoroughly impressed with Paris’s ease to breeze through the tools, getting the blonde to respond with what else would Rory expect from her; _“_ _oh, nothing less, but if you do screw up I can sue and with the Geller fortune I can finally make my gold-plated ends meet.”_

 

Paris, in her academic ways, always loved studying. And one of the great things about it, is that it usually involved zero participation from other people. It was a solitary event. But somehow, she loves doing this with Rory more. It was a combination of her favourite things after all. And though most college kids would rather be doing anything else on a Friday night, Paris wants to be right here, testing her skills as Rory made jokes that she should’ve signed a waver before allowing herself to be probed. It was here, it was by Rory, where she felt like a stupid kind of happy that she doesn’t normally. So, when thirty minutes were up and they’d gone through everything, she couldn’t help but be disappointed.

 

“Alright Gilmore,” Paris huffed, yanking the velcro cushion connected to the blood pressure pump off of Rory’s arm “your end of the deal is fulfilled.”

 

“So tell me Doc, how much longer do I have?”

 

Paris scoffed, hiding the urge to smile again. Goddamn Rory Gilmore. It’s hilarious, because on anyone else Paris would find it annoying enough to get right on her nerves, but on Rory it was adorably endearing. Crushes really do screw with your head huh.

 

“That all depends on the test results I get next week.”

 

“Great. I’ll go tell mom I have a week left to live.” Rory chirped. Paris rolled her eyes, returning to sort through her supplies, less they get damaged and she get docked any points. She felt Rory shifting on the bed, something about getting one of the last red velvet cupcakes they bought as a replacement “sucker”, until she interrupted herself with,

 

“Hey, you forgot one.” 

 

Paris caught Rory reaching for the stethoscope she purposefully left hidden  under the  misstrewn  sheets of Rory’s bed because she refuses to make it, freezing up. 

 

“Um, yeah, that’s..fine. I don’t need that one.” 

 

“Really..?” Rory asked, observing the instrument, twiddling the cord between her fingers “You sure?..” 

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

“Seems very un-Paris of you leave out a section of a test; an open, gaping weak spot –”

 

“I said it’s _fine_ Gilmore, what’s it to you?! Just get off my back about it!” 

 

Rory blinked back. By now, she was so used to Paris’s sharp teeth and outbursts they didn’t shock her anymore. It didn’t mean though, she didn’t wilt a the sudden crack into the easy atmosphere, the one currently around them when Paris lets herself soften. Paris watches the dark head of hear go down slightly, lips pressing together. She sullens too but says nothing, quickly gathering everything to put it in the bag. What was she suppose to say anyway? That the intimacy of sliding close to Rory, putting her fingers almost right over her chest and then _listening to her heartbeat,_ wouldn’t turn her into mush on the spot?

 

Paris has a will unlike no one else’s. But even she couldn’t deny that something like that would  crumple that will like it was a paper note squished in a fist. 

 

“Can I try it?” Rory suddenly asks. Paris looks back to where she was examining it, not dropping her curiosity. It couldn’t hurt; most med students, the second they get their hands on a stethoscope, will immediately stick the nubs in their ears and place the other end over their chests (which is exactly why staff keep the supplies locked up harder then jewels in a vault).

 

“Whatever.” Paris shrugs, seeing Rory eagerly place the earnubs into her ears “Just –”

 

A hand suddenly clamps on her arm, yanking her forward. She makes some kinda protesting noise as she nearly falls into Rory, a cutting  _what the hell_ on her tongue until Rory reaches up – 

 

There’s cold metal pressed against her skin, causing it to prickle. She’s, thankfully (or maybe not) wearing a tank top so there was no troublesome fabric blocking the way between medical instrument and heart. She can also feel Rory’s fingertips, lightly skimming over at she moves around trying to find where her heart is.

 

Oh god. 

 

She flicks her eyes up to the brunette. Rory is obnoxiously close. Paris can faintly smell the lavender shampoo, the same she’s been  using since they were in high school. Rory glances up, hitting Paris with  that ocean  blue – an honest to god trap she thinks by the way they pull her  in – and looking at her through the dark, fluttering lashes. Paris can hardly breathe.

 

This is it. This is where she dies. 

 

“Wh-what’re you doing?” Paris rushes out, too fast and a bit too harsh. Rory doesn’t even blink, continuing to drag the piece across her chest.

 

“You said I could try it.” 

 

“But –”

 

She’s cut off because Rory finally found the right spot. She lightly pressed the metal disk right over where Paris’s heart was thumping loudly,  emanating the beats through the device. Paris watched her all but light up, the beautiful eyes widening at the sound amplified for her. It was deathly quiet in the room, just the low breathing and heartbeats.

 

“..Woah.” Rory gasps, lips spreading up with complete awe “This is..so amazing..”

 

Paris could’ve said something;  _should’ve_ said something, really. Like how, yes, when you consider it, the human body is very miraculous, or a joke that maybe this has turned the very bookish Gilmore girl onto the world of medicine and science. She doesn’t. She’s thwarted because Rory’s smiling. 

 

You can’t help it, when you see the smile. The sweetness and the brightness to light up everything around them. Paris wants so much to hate it rather then waiting for moments to see it happen. However, no matter how badly she wants her brain to speak over her heart, it doesn’t. Rather, Rory smiles and her heart speeds up all on it’s own.

 

This would normally not be a problem, outside of the  realm that she needs to remember Rory is just her friend and that was never going to change. But right now it’s a big problem because there’s this device currently tapped into her that’s  amplifying the sound of her heart. And it’s wired right into Rory’s ears. 

 

Her best friend is no idiot. The sudden spike of tempo was rather obvious, and it was obvious that it happened right as she grinned up at Paris. Put two and two together, and there’s a sudden wash of realization over Rory’s face. The smile goes away,  disappearing under surprise. 

 

Paris pales. Oh god, oh god. She knows, she can read it in the way  Rory was blinking back surprise and the sudden seriousness  descended over  them. It was too quiet and all they can to is stare, shocked and panicked, at each other. Paris just wants the ground to open up and hide her so they don’t have to sit in his  realization, so that she doesn’t have to see her best friend awkwardly take off the stethoscope and walk away from her. Her chest, her throat, it’s too tight and her jaw finally comes loose, about to attempt to say something to mend this. But Rory interrupts her first. 

 

“Hey, can I...” she whispers, head down, nervous, but in a sweeter way; not in the uncomfortable nervous because it’s clear your best friend is in love with you and you need a way to let her down gentle “..can I..try something else?..” 

 

Paris is immediately cautious. Her brow draws together, unsure. 

 

“Wh-what –”

 

Rory leans forward, closing the tiny gap. And kisses her.

 

And Paris very well nearly passes out. 

 

Her heart goes from a mild tempo to an uproarious encore. It was insane. She thought it was going to beat right out of her chest.  Is this what getting an adrenaline shot is like? Oh god. She doesn’t know, all she does know is that her heart is going so fast the beats might as well be blurring together.

 

Rory’s kissing her. She’s trying to pay attention but her brain is smearing a little. It’s so soft that Paris practically melts into her. Rory was previously snacking on those chocolate teddy grams, so she mostly tastes of chocolate, which is pleasant. But Paris can also taste the slight honey from her chapstick too. What a surprise, Rory Gilmore tastes like the sweetest thing possible. So sweet and like the exact kind of right.  Paris had never really cared for kissing, felt like a chore more then anything, but maybe that was because she wasn’t kissing Rory. Because she made all her other ones look like backwards rejects. Kissing Rory Gilmore made her heart a live firework. Kissing her made her suddenly understand why girls in high school  would  never shut up about it. If Paris knew it could  be  this wonderful, she might’ve been on board a bit more. 

 

Hard to argue against it, really, when they’re kissing like they’re two pieces that fit into each other and she can feel Rory smiling against her because she’s hearing the heartbeat hammer wildly in her ears.

 

They need air. They pull away at the same time, replacing the silence with fast breathing, trying to get air into reeling heads. Finally, after just staring down into laps, they look at each other. Paris is gaping. Rory is smiling, a little delirious.

 

For once in her life, Paris is speechless. She didn’t care for it. It was unnerving. She keeps opening and closing her lips, trying to make words happen. 

 

“I..I just..how..” Paris huffs, growling at her own ineptness, shuffling around in her spot “how-how long have you..–”

 

“Forever..” Rory admitted, head down bashfully as she pulls out the stethoscope “and I always _thought,_ you know..maybe...but, I could never be sure...” 

 

“Yeah, I know..” And Paris did, very familiar with pining, but always sure it was something that could never be. 

 

“What..what about you?..” 

 

“God, longer then forever.” Paris blurted out before she could think about it, because really, it felt like she’d spent all her life loving Rory in secret, even when she was young and couldn’t admit it to herself. But christ, didn’t that sound grossly puppy-ish? She quickly looks up to Rory to back peddle but the brunette is grinning again, at her.

 

“Wow, this whole time..and all it’d taken was this.” Rory remarked, fiddling with the stethoscope “I’d always kinda hoped, but..wasn’t totally confident until you were sitting there looking at me and you’re heart suddenly spiked and I swear, I nearly saw the indent of it coming out of your chest, like a Bugs Bunny cartoon.."

 

Paris glowered, feeling her face grow hot “Yeah yeah, hilarious – listen Gilmore, you breathe a word of that to anyone and you’re dead, you hear me?!” 

 

Rory, of course, only chuckles at Paris’s threats. She’d been handed enough of them in her life that, by now, there was no way they were going to even graze her. 

 

“Say what? That you –” She leaned forward, a big toothy grin _“liiike meee?”_

 

“ _No –”_

 

“Oh but you do. You _liiike meeee..”_ Rory sing-songed, having far too much fun with this. Paris groaned, eyes rolling back. 

 

“God you’re obnoxious..” 

 

The brunette laughs, collecting herself as she sat back up “S’ok. I won’t tell.” 

 

“Please. I know what happened will be immediately relayed to your mother over the phone the second we’re done here.”

 

Rory opens her mouth to defend herself, but really, that was exactly what was going to happen. Instead she bites into her lip, busy wrapping up the stethoscope. 

 

“..I’ll make you sound suave then.” 

 

“Mm.” Paris grunts back. Slowly though, a smile tilted her lips up, watching the other girl. Rory liked her. It seemed way too good to be true; that it was something that happened in cheesy, holiday romance films, your best friend really harboring the same feelings you’ve had. You never hear about that in real life. But yet, here she was, spilling the same heart to Paris, the same _I like you._

 

Or at least, so she says. 

 

Paris was meticulous. She never went into anything without being totally sure, without snooping it out to know exactly what was going on. And it was be rather stupid to just rely on one single piece of evidence. Her eyes flick down to where the stethoscope laid in Rory’s lap. She held down a grin, and reached forward. 

 

“Well, at any rate, it’s unfair that you’re the only one who’s gotten to use this..” She takes the device from Rory, unfurling it “so stop hogging it. It’s my turn.” 

 

“Hogging it?” Rory raises an amused brow, watching Paris put the ends in her ears “I’m sorry, but, wasn’t it _you_ who said it wasn’t a big deal and –”

 

She never got to finish. Paris suddenly had the disk of the stethoscope over her chest and then she was kissing her. Rory was  frozen in surprise for a second, but then easily melted against her, kissing back. She sunk into the kiss, her hand clasping Paris’s cheek and  Paris’s free hand slipped over Rory’s waist.

 

And Paris can’t help grinning into it, because she could hear the sound of Rory’s heart speeding up the second her lips touched the pink ones, a  million ticks per second and out of control.

 

Yeah, that was probably strong enough evidence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, the amount of goggling I had to do just to know the names of basic doctor office tools/supplies, you guys have no idea.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again friends, welcome back. 
> 
> I've been really into pining lately. But, because I'm me, I can't have it end on a sad note, so there's some fluff after. 
> 
> Scene: Paris contemplates her feelings for Rory, pre-relationship and then during the relationship.

Paris wakes up not necessarily where she expected to be.

 

The last thing she remembers is quizzing Rory on some vocab terms. Now, she’s blinking back sleep, raising her head from the pillow of her bed.

 

She hazily takes in her surroundings. It was dark outside their dorm room, when earlier, she remembered it still being light out. She was laying over her bed’s duvet, in a sea of a studying massacre. Textbooks, work papers, sheet notes, pens and highlighters, some books, and of course, opened bags of cookies and some microwave popcorn.

 

Huh. She guessed they’d fallen asleep. Only a few months into college, and it’s already proven to be quite the step-up from high school, even the academically rigorous Chilton. Not that it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle, of course. Just something they had to adjust to. Paris was determined, that combining Rory’s powers with her own, they’d be able to bend the edges of the earth if they wanted.

 

Wait. Rory had been right beside her before, apparently, her sub-conscious tapped out, so where –

 

It’s when Paris tries to sit up that she notices. Mostly because she _can’t_ sit up.

 

She whips her head down to where her arm is stuck and finds Rory there. She’s nestled right up beside Paris on her side, laid over her arm and dead asleep. A few sleepovers under her belt, and now from living with her, Paris has learned that Rory sleeps like the dead. Once her eyes are closed, that’s it, it’s lights out. Paris, notorious light sleeper with a mind that never allows her to slow down completely, can’t help but be a little jealous.

And now, somehow, Rory has fallen asleep over her arm. Paris tried to wiggle it out from under the dead weight but has little success. The only option would be to use her collective strength and rip it away.  Which would send Rory spinning right off the mattress to hit the hardwood floor  down below.

 

She is, in fact, trapped. 

 

Paris huffs, letting herself fall back into the bed. Great. She turns her head to Rory who was curled into Paris’s spare pillow, delicate eyelids closed.

 

“..Hey.” She whispers across the five inch distance between “..Hey Gilmore..” 

 

Nothing. Rory really could sleep through an air raid. Paris is, instead, forced to watch her, the gentle rising of her stomach as she slept. It’s ridiculous. Rory Gilmore was beautiful even when knocked unconscious. When moving in together, Paris was sort of praying to find a secret that would break the disney princess prettiness; like maybe she drooled in her sleep, or just had bad bedhead. But nothing. What a surprise. Paris watches and watches, like she was taking the angle of her jaw and the button nose to memory, and feels her chest constrict. She can nearly feel the slow exhales of Rory’s breaths across her skin, making  it prickle, becoming fuzzy all over.

 

She swallows tightly to get rid of the feeling, flicking her eyes away. That used to happen a lot with Rory, back in the day. Paris assumed it was just her body’s reaction the competitiveness, kind of like adrenaline. But now, that had  sort of siphoned out, replaced with friendship. But this feeling hadn’t left. It stayed, and that’s what scared Paris.

 

She’d been running from those feelings, from those thoughts, for forever it seemed. Since sixteen. And now she was finally running out of  path to run

 

There’s a glint that draws her eyes over behind Rory. The metal bowl still half-full of popcorn was behind the slumbering brunette. One simple movement of rolling over and that would be on the floor, popcorn everywhere and for sure annoying whoever was downstairs. 

 

Paris sighed. She pushed herself up by her free arm, reaching over Rory to grasp the bowl and inevitably forcing them together quite close. Her fingertips scrapped the bowl, getting a hold and carefully lifting it, placing it over her legs, near the end of the bed on the inside where it  would be safe. She was  planning to lay back –

 

There’s a low sigh and Rory shuffles. Paris freezes, hovering with an explanation ready on her tongue. But Rory’s eyes didn’t open. Rather, she moves, leans, forward, pressing up against Paris with her face nuzzled against her shoulder. Paris feels a hand over her stomach, fingers grasping her fuzzy blue sweater to pull her closer.

And then she just stays like that. Paris is stuck. She can’t feel 90% of her body. Her heart is beating too loud  that she actually worries it’ll wake Rory. This can’t be happening. She knows Rory is still dead asleep, not even aware she was doing this.

 

She has to detangle them. It was the right thing to do. You don’t do this kind of thing with your best friend.  _They_ don’t do this.

 

Paris doesn’t. She stays there stiffly, eyes down at Rory. She could feel her breathing against her even closer now; the rise of her stomach next to hers, the breaths directly on her neck.  Her chest  fills with  unexpected  warmth. She knows, in the hypothetical, this should feel uncomfortable. Like said, this wasn’t the same closeness you normally share with a best friend. But it wasn’t. In fact, Paris loves it; she wants to hold Rory here, hold her with her.

 

She can’t help but think of her actual boyfriend. Nice guy, great guy, who she feels almost nothing for. Paris never initiates this kind of closeness with him, and if he does, it doesn’t create this warmth and ease. Even when sleeping together, which is suppose to be the most intimate act. Paris feels a blandness, a nothing when she knows there’s suppose to be a  _something._ There have been occasions, moments after when she’s left or when Jaime’s asleep, she’ll cry. And then she’ll feel stupid for doing so, for begging to feel the thing everyone she says she’s suppose to.

 

Right now? Right now, she’s nothing but content. She’s at ease, a feat for her, but Rory tended to create that when she’s around her. Paris wants her closer, regardless that’s she’s about as close as she can be with the blonde. She felt at home.

 

So Paris lays herself back down, lets herself relax. She lowers the arm that was hovering over Rory, sliding it effortlessly around to rest her hand on her back. She notices a lock of brown hair had fallen forward, dangling right in Rory’s face. Oh-so-gently, Paris reaches up. Her fingers are shaking a little, but she’s careful as she slowly moves the hair away, and tenderly tucks it behind her ear. Now you can see her face; god, she was beautiful. Paris didn’t even know why she did that, an act of softness not known to her. She didn’t even think about it. She just did.

 

The realization hits her head on. Her stomach sinks. Her throat becomes tight and there’s sudden stinging around her eyes. 

 

She’d been running and running and now the path had cut off, hit the cliff’s edge and  disappeared.  There’s no more room left to run.

 

She knows there’s nothing to be done. Rory will  go back to Dean or Jess or someone else wholly undeserving. And Paris will be here – her best friend, telling her she was happy for her when she does. That’s all she can be.

 

And if that was the case, Paris just holds onto her tight. She lets Rory sleep against, into, her for the moment she’ll never have again, careful and sure in her hold. She rests her head against the pillow, nose pressed against the dark hair, the familiar lavender that both calms her heart and makes it flutter simultaneously.  Her vision has become blurry so she has to  squeeze  her eyes shut. She can’t do this. She has to be fine.  _Has_ to be, or she risks losing Rory entirely. 

 

For right now, she simply sleeps next to her, curled up with her. She  can have one moment, at least.

 

 

– _Three Months Later –_

 

 

It’s the sound of the t.v that wakes Paris first. 

 

There’s some  zingy one-liners, followed by sitcom canned laughter. Her eyes blink awake, trying to find the source in her haze. The  screen across the room finally comes into view, showing Monica and Rachel standing in the  _Friends_ living room. Paris glances around, finding, once more, a bedcover littered with bags of snacks. Oh right.

 

Her first inclination is to get up and just turn it off. Except she’s held back by the giant weight atop her chest. 

 

She tilts her head down. Rory’s half-way on her, head resting on her collar and arms circled around her waist. Asleep, again. What else is new?

 

They couldn’t stay like this. They’d fallen asleep after Rory dramatically slammed the book for her poetry class closed and said if she had to read any more of it, she’d be speaking in types of prose for the rest of her life. Paris could do a little more, but was eventually dragged over with the promise of Ben & Jerry’s and that she could pick the first show for them to watch. But now it was an hour later and, clearly, they were going to need to go to bed.

 

“Hey Gilmore..” Paris probes, trying to jostle her when the brunette didn’t move “..Hey. Rory. I know you can hear me. Get up. Rory, _c’mon.”_

 

She now had to push, fingers poking into stomach and kicking against the other legs entangled with hers. Rory only made angry grumbling noises, arms tightening around Paris’s middle. 

 

“No, five more minutes...” 

 

“ _Gilmore –”_ Paris groans, head falling back. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees an opened packet of three piece Reese’s cups, sans one. Her eyes then go over to the garbage pale maybe ten feet away from the bed. She could make that. She grabbed the treat. 

 

“If you don’t move, the Resse’s are getting chucked into the trash..” Rory didn’t move, but her head did tilt up, wide eyes locked on the orange wrapper “And don’t think I can’t make it. One chance Gilmore. One..two..”

 

“No!” Rory squeaked. She leapt up to yank the chocolate from Paris’s hand, managing to flop over onto the other side of the bed, freeing the blonde. 

 

“Finally!” Paris huffed, sitting up. 

 

“How dare you – why would you hurt an innocent snack like that?” Rory pouted, peering into the wrapper to double check that no more were lost.

 

“Because it’s the only thing that would get you up.” Paris argued “Which, you should know, is quite sad.”

 

“It isn’t the _only_ thing.” 

 

“Don’t try and make me believe sex works as a better incentive on you then food Gilmore – I know you too well to entertain that idea..” 

 

“That’s not _at all_ what I was – you know what, never mind..”

 

Rory quickly got up from the bed after that, slight red tint on her cheeks. Paris snorted quietly, watching her  grab the  snacks from the bedspread. She wasn’t necessarily the teasing type, but she guessed there was some amusement in that.

 

Paris just keeps starring up at Rory  who continues to tidy, unable to keep her smile from growing. It’d only been two months since getting together and altogether it’d felt like no time at all. Paris didn’t know  she could be this happy – with a person, or just in general. This whole time, she’d thought  this wasn’t possible. No way would Rory want to be with another woman. No way would Rory want her, for when does anyone? She’d just resigned herself to being miserable; to hidden tears and  forlorn stares when she was sure Rory wasn’t looking. As it turns out, Rory had been giving the same stares when  _she_ wasn’t looking. 

 

It was shocking how easy it was. Paris always stepped into relationship like how you’d walk across eggshells, apprehensively and sometimes even reluctantly. And sure, they’d both been a little nervous, taking this to the level above, especially since neither had been with women. But it fizzled out when they both realized, hey, it’s  _them._ It’s just them. Nothing about them, about the good-natured competition and fondness, had gone, except that now instead of helping each other out on dates, they now take out each other. Paris likes that much more.

 

Even Lorelai wasn’t massively surprised. Paris was glad to hear it when Rory returned from her trip to Stars Hollow, if not a little thrown. 

 

“ _She says it kinda makes sense, you being gay..”_

 

“ _How so?”_

 

“ _Well, there was the incident where you kept staring at her chest and demanded she open her top to attract passersby..”_

 

“ _She told you about that?! Oh my god,_ _I can’t believe –”_

 

“ _Relax Par, she thinks it’s funny.”_

 

“ _Oh, of course she does!..”_

 

“ _And there’s the whole thing about you being apprehensive to following Jamie, your actual then boyfriend, to his college, but used your family’s influence to make sure_ I _ended up as your roommate.”_

 

“ _That wasn’t my idea, it was my_ _councilors_ _!”_

 

“ _But you still went through with it.”_

 

“ _Gilmore –”_

 

“ _C’mon, just admit_ _it.”_

 

“ _What? That I’m in fact, such a raging lesbian it’s shocking it took me this long to realize it?”_

 

“ _Or that you love me.”_

 

“ _Admit_ _that_ _to your face? Never.”_

 

“ _Fine. I can hear you talking about me in your sleep all the time, so you can’t fool me..”_

 

Paris did love her. It was maybe a little too early to say it, but she knew  it;  has known it for a long time. It was impossible to put aside that warmth and fondness and not know it was love in it’s truest form.

 

“Hey.” Paris suddenly spoke, getting up next to her.

 

“Hm?” Rory whipped her head over, blinking up curiously. Damn those baby blues. They get her every time.

 

Paris reached up to clasp her cheek, pulling Rory in to kiss her.  She didn’t mean it to be heavy, but she felt Rory  melt against her the longer it went on, allowing herself to be kissed languidly.  God, she had the softest lips. Paris had always thought so, catching herself staring at them and wondering what the baby pink lips felt like against hers. It made her very happy to know that she was right, even more then it usually does.  Eventually, she realizes they’d been standing there a couple minutes now and there’s a lack of air to her head, so she untangles them. Rory exhales quietly when she’s pulled away, hand resting on Paris’s stomach, fingers flexing and grasping around her shirt. Blue eyes flicked up to meet head on.

 

“..Is that all you wanted to say?” Her voice was a couple notches lower.

 

“Essentially.” Paris shrugged. 

 

Now, it was Rory’s turn to smile.

 

They clean up the rest of the snacks off Rory’s bed (after she kept finding cookie crumbs in her sheets, Paris has banned all snack eating on her bed because _that’s how you get ants, Rory)_ and their studying, slipping into pajamas. Rory’s gotten into the habit of wearing her sweaters to bed, so now Paris has no choice but to wear her old t-shirts in retaliation. She’s second to wash up, so when she comes back Rory is already laying in bed.

 

S he’s pretty much tapped out  already, curled up in a  cocoon of blankets. Paris scoffs at her, kneeling down onto the mattress. 

 

“Blanket hog..” 

 

“And what’re you gunna do about it?...” Rory mumbles, the sleepy tone not totally covering the sting of sharpness. Paris puffed up, furrowing. Fine, if that’s the game her girlfriend wants to play.

 

She gets a good double fist full of the comforter, and swiftly yanks it away. Rory yelps, unspooling with little grace to land on her front, face-first in her pillow. 

 

“Hey!..” 

 

“Well if you can’t talk the talk Gilmore..” Paris smirks, settling the blanket around her, now completely covered, Rory left with only a little sliver of a corner. She raises her head to glare back at the blonde, a look on that lets Paris know she’s cooking up a plan.

 

“If I have no blankets, then you leave me no choice..” 

 

She quickly snakes across, and before Paris knew it, Rory was  glues to her side her again, snuggled up against and tucked underneath  the comforter.

 

“Oh my god, _Gilmore –”_

 

“Hey, you stole the blankets, you asked for this.” 

 

“No, Rory, I did not ask for you to essentially koala-bear me.” Paris grumbled, shifting around so she at least had breathing room “..Nor did I ask for us to have suddenly turned into this disgusting, domestic married couple who fight over blankets and spend our nights in _cuddling.”_

 

“Eh, you love it..” 

 

Paris doesn’t exactly have a retort for that. Instead, she laid there in defeat,  mulling. Trapped. Again. Good.  She wants to say she felt at least some surprise at this, but she couldn’t and be honest at the same time.

 

She could feel Rory’s stomach pressing against her with every breath, the arm over her stomach curled securely. She turned her head to where Rory rested hers over her shoulder, eyes already closed, close to being dead to the world. Fondness creeps in again. Beautiful. Paris is smiling before she knew it. She doesn’t have to hold back any more. 

 

She leans down,  breathing in the familiar lavender, and kisses over the dark hair.  The arm around her stomach curled tighter. 

 

Yeah. She kinda does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, I love me some Softness and cheesy bullshit. Also, Paris Geller is a lesbian and that is the hill I will die on.
> 
> P.S If you want good karma and to make a writer happy, you can comment down below.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, I just had this idea/headcannon of Paris and ice skating, and it developed into this! This one may be my favourite so far :) Still takes place in Yale years. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Scene: Paris and Rory attempt ice skating

“C’mon Gilmore, it’s not that hard!”

 

Paris really should’ve considered who her girlfriend was before doing this. Should’ve remembered that Rory had two left feet. That as a child she was considered a ‘hazard’ by her town’s dance instructor and promptly banned from dance classes before her moves could break another kid’s ankle. So, if they had wanted to do something ‘fun’ together (she’s using Rory’s term exactly), maybe ice skating shouldn’t have been her first suggestion.

 

“Says you!” Rory yells back from the rink wall, gloved hands iron-gripping the railing.

 

“You’ve been over there for ten minutes! Make your move already!”

 

“I _did,_ and I didn’t enjoy face planting the first time thank you very much!”

 

“God, all you have to do is make it to me!” Paris argued, gesturing to where she stood nearer the center of the rink, roughly fifteen feet away from Rory “And it wasn’t _that bad –”_

 

“A toddler pointed and laughed! A four year old!”

 

Paris groaned, dragging her hands down her face. Rory could be perfectly stubborn when she wanted to be.

 

“So what Gilmore?! You’re going to let that get the better of you?!” She challenged, a raised brow and hands on hips _“The_ Rory Gilmore, admitting defeat so easily? What happened to my secretly fierce-spirited rival?”

 

It was a bit of a dirty trick, but Paris knew it would get her the right results. And surely, she saw Rory angrily scrunch up her face, lips thinly pressed together. Stubborn determination.

 

“ _..Fine.”_ She agreed, in a tone like she’d deiced to and not because Paris baited her into it. Tentatively, she released her deadly grip on the railing, leaning her feet out towards Paris. 

 

“There, good, now just push off –”

 

“I’ll fall!”

 

“You _won’t!_ You’ll only fall if you don’t have enough momentum!”

 

Putting her faith in the blonde, Rory made the gentlest push off possible. This resulted in her very, very slowly,  painstakingly, gliding across to Paris,  arms out wide and much resembling a cartoon baby deer on ice. For a second, Paris saw the anxiety of potentially landing face down again lift, eyes lighting up. 

 

“..Okay, I-I think I – _oh god –”_

Paris saw it coming from a mile away; she was bent too far forward. She quickly pushed off and raced over, just managing to grasp Rory as her knees gave out and she nearly hit the cold, hard ground of ice.

 

“Good _god_ Gilmore,” Paris huffed as she lifted her back up, Rory grasping onto her arms hard enough to dig her nails in “you’re an embarrassment –”

 

“I trusted you!” Rory pouted, pushing back her fuzzy pink toque as it fell into her eyes “And _now_ I’m worried I won’t make it out of here without a broken ankle at least!”

 

“Don’t be such a baby. Frankly, you were the one who jumped so readily onto my ice skating suggestion –”

 

“I was _trying_ to do the good girlfriend thing. I feel like 99% of the time I’m the one suggesting places to go that you just bitterly agree to, partly due to you not ever wanting to go out.”

 

It was true. Paris was not a ‘going-out’, weekend plans girl. She hated crowds and ruckus, and frankly, people. She already lived with the sole person she honestly wanted to spend time with, why go out? After they were banned from bar trivia because Paris confronted the table _she_ _knew_ wascheating and they refused to believe her claims, she hardly saw the point. But now that it was December, and the local rink had opened up, she felt drawn to go down for a skate.

 

“I just..didn’t consider how bad I would be at it..” Rory mumbled, trying to stand from where she was wobbling on her skates “I was mostly picturing us bundled together on the side-lines sipping on overpriced hot chocolate..”

 

“Yes, you mentioned the hot chocolate multiple times already.” Paris sighed, brushing off ice flakes from Rory that landed on her beige overcoat “Look, since my tough-loved, side-lined coaching isn’t working, we’re going to have to go hands on. Here..”

 

She slid Rory’s hands down, feeling her stiffen but telling her she’ll be fine. She had her grasp her lower arms, and then she held onto Rory’s from underneath. The perfect system to tug her along.

 

“It’s relatively simple Gilmore, you just keep biting into your panic. Just bend you knees a little, there, that’s it. Now you push; forward, toes first, on repeat.”

 

Her nervousness read clearly, especially in the lip biting, but Rory did as instructed. She pushed and Paris copied the motion, guiding her.

 

“Good – keep doing that because if you stall too long like you were doing you’ll lose balance. You have to be constant.”

 

“Sounds exhausting..” Rory commented, but kept it up, starting to get _something_ of a rhythm. And by the looks of it, that frumpled frustration started to disappear – not smiling yet, but good enough. She picked up the slightest speed, leaning up.

 

“Don’t stand up – you have to keep your knees bent, that’s the key.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Otherwise you’ll fall right flat on your back, if that’s what you want.”

 

Rory didn’t object, shrinking back down. They continued like that for a while, Paris toting her girlfriend around. After a while, she saw Rory’s brow knit together, eyes on her skates as they went _backwards_ with relative ease.

 

“..I feel like the other question should be how _you_ got so good.” She pondered “Or was that just to mock me?”

 

“That’s just a perk.” Paris quipped, eyes still locked on Rory’s skates. She finally flicked them back up to a look that was clearly waiting for a non-sarcastic answer. She sighed.

 

“It was my nanny’s doing, mostly.”

 

“Elaborate answer, please.”

 

“As in, the skating rink is where she took me constantly, when I was younger. It was the closest thing nearest to the house. So, when I wasn’t spending my mornings to nights writing practice essays and being quizzed on multiple spelling bees by tutors, she took me there. I think she thought it was important I get fresh air or something..’

 

“That’s adorable.” Rory grinned “Little baby Paris, big puffy coat and waving to her nanny on the sidelines.”

 

“I’m sure..” Paris rolled her eyes.

 

“I’m surprised your parents let you do that.”

 

“As long as it didn’t get in the way of studying. Quite frankly, they wanted achievement from me in all regards, so I think they were hoping with enough trips it would propel me into sports stardom. But, as it would be seen, I was more suited to academics so that dream kind of fell through..”

 

“No gold Olympic medals for you then..”

 

“That’s a _lot_ of hours, even by my standards. I’ll stick with essay composition and textbook quizzes, thank you very much.”

 

There was a pause of silence after, breezes by their ears and low chatter of happy families around them. Paris pressed her lips together, thinking, and then,

 

“Besides..I liked that it was my own, without my parents trying to wring it out for whatever accolades skating could produce. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love high-stakes and achievements, and when I did skate, I worked myself so that I _was_ good at it, which is why you see the backwards movements before you.”

 

“I’m sensing a but here..”

 

Paris wasn’t looking at Rory, instead off over her shoulder “But, it was nice to do it for the sake of; I used to go down back in high school by myself, because often the house was so big and quiet it was impossible to think, and especially back when my parents were divorcing and it was filled with fights or horrific tense silence. It was one of the few times I remembered having fun as a kid, and as I got older, it was a good way to clear my head..”

 

She finally looked back. Rory had lost her chipper spirit, head tilted, watching her closely.

 

“..Stop looking at me like that.” Paris snipped.

 

“Like what?”

 

“That pity look you have whenever I talk about my past. Like, poor Paris with her emotionally stunting parents more concerned with which college she’ll get into then letting her have a childhood. I don’t want or _need_ your pity!”

 

“It’s not _pity.”_ Rory argued “I wish you’d learn the difference between pity and concern..”

 

“I don’t want that either. I don’t even know why you’re surprised – you remember what I was like. I was a miserable teenager. And child. Here, you’re doing well, I’m just going to loosen my grip and distance myself a _little –”_

“What changed then – _no wait Paris –”_

 

Rory, was, technically, fine to float sort of half on her own. For about a second. The problem was that she didn’t siphon off and was still going a bit too fast. There wasn’t enough space for Paris to back away and before anyone knew it, Rory had slammed into her hard enough to throw off her balance, and hard enough that her skills couldn’t kick in to catch them, causing Paris to hit the ground and Rory to land atop her.

 

There was a couple seconds of sulking in the shame, Paris groaning as she groggily sat up, Rory still half-way on her. She unscrewed her eyes to see Rory looking back, already guilty, those blue eyes sweetly speaking their apology.

 

“Sorry..”

 

The usual, quick-fire verbal retort suddenly died on Paris’s tongue. She can’t even be surprised. She scoffed, half-way a laugh, shaking her head. Thankfully, she was easily on her feet again, pulling Rory back up with her.

 

“Well I do appreciate your efforts Gilmore, no matter how poorly they were executed.” Paris admitted. Later, she can tell her how much it really meant. That Rory agreed, that she did her best even if Bambi had better luck then she did because Paris wanted to do it. How great it was to do this again after such a long break, something that really made her happy.

 

Right now, she’s quiet, arm around Rory’s waist to steady her and Rory not holding back from gripping on her shoulders. They’re close, her hearing Rory’s quick breaths in, the red apple blush on her white cheeks.

 

“...Does this mean we can get hot chocolate now? Mend our wounds? I hear they even have peppermint.”

 

Paris’s head ducks down, smile coming on. _What changed then?_ She closes the milometer of space, kissing her on the cheek, the slight frost pressing against her lips but catching the gentle warmth of the blush too.

 

“Yes love. If only to stop your pestering.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've recently become a person who 'does things', so works are going to come out possibly even slower than they already are. But I very much appreciate your guys' support and patience with this, you all great. I do, however, have another actual full story planned to publish, so there are plans and there is hope on the horizon!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a bit...bluer than I normally do, so to speak. I don't know what happened guys. I think I was momentarily possessed. I just really wanted something short to post for you nice people, and this was the only idea I could come up with, apparently. So, please don't hate me if it massively sucks, as I'm sort of out of my realm (sometimes I feel I don't know the line between being subtle to making it outright obvious they were fucking, so..). Honestly though, most of it, like 90%, is just couple bickering, which I know we all love with the two of them (they're probably my fav OTP to write dialogue for because it's usually always hilarious and kinda ridiculous LOL). 
> 
> Scene: Rory regards on how Paris can never give up on a challenge - leading her to a situation that would reveal that trait isn't always as bad as one might think.

This wasn’t even  suppose to be a  _challenge._

 

Rory walked herself into this one, truly.  Everyone knows Paris can’t resist a challenge. Especially when stakes are high.  And  _especially_ when it includes winning over her – that part of their relationship hadn’t really changed when they’d started  dating. It possibly got even stronger.

 

But of course in her Paris-like way, like  with all things she decides to stake a claim in, it wasn’t even necessarily  _meant_ to be something she had to take on. 

 

It was only mentioned in passing  the other  night when they were in bed. Rory, sat up,  cleaning off her fingers and unable to stop smiling proudly at Paris laid beside her, heavy breathing and just about ready to pass out. Getting Paris to relax enough  for  _it_ to happen at least once was one thing, but twice was an earned  feat. It was when the blonde  pulled her in after, lips against her neck and humming about having to return the favour later, that Rory mentione d it. 

 

“ _I um..can’t. Consecutively.”_

 

“ _Seriously? At all?”_

 

“ _I mean, not that I’ve found out..”_

 

“ _Bullshit.”_

 

“ _It-it’s not! Why would I lie to you?”_

 

“ _I’m not accusing, Gilmore. In reality, you’re probably the one that’s been lied to; lord knows men barely exit out of their own peripheral to care about women’s pleasure so I bet they never tried, and given that you turn as skiddish as a mouse during intimacies, I bet you never pushed it either.”_

 

“ _Look, I know myself pretty well by now, and it’s not..a thing that you can make happen, so let’s just drop it.”_

 

Rory immediately regretted her word choice once she realized it. Because that’s all it’d taken. Paris went from 0 to 100 and vowed to _make it happen,_ less they both die trying.

 

Now Rory was here in bed. She wasn’t sure how long it’d been. Time had lost all meaning; must’ve been a good few hours, but Paris _does not_ stop until she gets the results she wants. She was somewhere between the brink of collapse and total euphoria. Turns out, almost dying was an outcome.

 

She can’t feel 99% of her body. She’s doused in sweat. They’re both sans clothes and the sheets are off the bed and yet somehow it is _still_ too hot in here. She’s shaking slightly, trembling fingers gripping the mattress sheet beneath her with one hand and the other white-knuckled in the blonde head of hair below her waistwhich she’d kept pressed there.

 

And also, sitting on the terrible realization she was going to have to admit Paris was _right._

 

She’d honestly tried to keep control but had lost it after the third one, blacking out after the final fourth to the noises of suckling and her own high-pitched voice (she’s now accompanied by the very frightening thought of possibly running into their neighbours later). Because her girlfriend was _good._ Rory guessed all those Cosmo magazines she’d been subjecting herself to in order to get proper tips, whilst complaining to her about the stupidity of the entertainment culture, were paying off. Plus it helped they’d been doing this a while, and Paris was no dummy either. She’d probably been making notes – because she knew when to slow down, when to speed up, when to be soft, when to go harder, unfolding Rory with what seemed like zero effort at all.

 

Blessedly, Paris seemed to catch on that unless they really wanted an ER trip, it’d be better to stop. She lifted her head from between the pale thighs, both sporting a dark bruise on the inside (Paris had a weird infinity for them; Rory figures it’s something about marking her claim, which she’d otherwise find disgusting if she didn’t know Paris as well as she did), looking over at Rory who doesn’t even have the energy to open her eyes. She sat up, and after wiping off her mouth and fingers, slid over the brunette to be face to face. Rory can _feel_ her smugness and she hates it.

 

“So, is it safe to say to eat your words yet Gilmore? Or would you like another to really drive the point home?”

 

Rory wanted words but they betrayed her, and instead she only let out some kind of gutteral whine. Now the smugness was _dripping._

 

“You’re going to have to try for better coherency then that. You want me to provide some words?”

 

“Shut up..” Rory finally made, weakly.

 

“She speaks.” Paris raises a brow “You know, that’s a rather rude thing to say to someone who just made you come four times.”

 

“I didn’t.. _ask_ _you to..”_ Rory points out between breaths.

 

“You made what you wanted perfectly clear when you said I couldn’t do it.” Paris argued and if Rory had any energy she’d be rolling her eyes “Besides, I wanted to; you have a sweet taste anyway, which helps, and now, I get to revel in the fact I made you scream.”

 

Rory was so inadvertently offended her eyelids finally flew up.

 

“I did _not_ scream.”

 

“Oh but you did.” Paris smiled “Do you think I’d exaggerate that? No, that’s far too great of a victory to try and lie about it.”

 

Rory tries to fight it but falls short when realizing that was why her throat was slightly cracked. That must’ve happened in the space of time when she’d blacked out.

 

Now all she wants is for the bed to swallow her whole. Instead, she sighed and tried to see if she could move any of her limbs. Nope. Her body feels like it was made of air and there’s still the lasting..sensations from when she last climbed back down from her high. There’s some silence, and then Paris shifts above her. A hand comes over hers and her tone completely switches like it often does when Paris wants to tell her she loves her and then accuse her of hiding the coffee when she can’t find the bag in the same sentence.

 

“You okay?..”

 

Rory nodded, eyes slipping closed again “Yeah, I just won’t be able to move..and you know..do things, from now on..”

 

She felt Paris lean closer, kissing over her shoulder, slow, up along to her collar and then her neck, trying to smooth her coming back to reality. This time she sighs a lot gentler. She found enough feeling in her hand to slip it up over Paris’s waist.

 

“..If it’s some kind of consolation..” The blonde mumbled against her “I have several kinks in my neck, and I was very close to getting lock jaw. And I think you ripped a good chunk out of my hair.”

 

“You still brought that on yourself by doing this.”

 

“I don’t think I deserved getting my hair ripped out just for fulfilling your whining demands.”

 

“I am not whiny!”

 

“Really?” Paris lifted up to meet glaring blue eyes “Then what were all those calls to ‘keep going’ for? You’re saying that encouragement was for me?”

 

“ _I –_ you –” Rory dissolved into stifled, angry groans, hands coming over her heated face. 

 

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing.” Paris continued, the pride still slightly audible “I like knowing I’m doing a good job, and like I said, getting under you skin like this and seeing you come apart is a rarity I’m going to be enjoying for quite a long time.” 

 

“I’m so happy for you..” Her voice was deadpanned, eyes screwed shut. Unfortunately for Rory, she was going to have to work on washing out the embarrassment for the next week. There was a beat of silence.

 

“Rory.” 

 

The seriousness of the tone was enough to get her to open her eyes again. Paris is staring right down at her. 

 

“You don’t have to be embarrassed over your own pleasure. This was suppose to be good for you, not to shove you into a corner of shame.” 

 

Rory bit into her lip, gaze flicking away “I-I know..” 

 

“Besides,” Paris leaned in again, a single, purposeful kiss to the pale neck “I like hearing you.”

 

Rory waits, needing something to say. She knows she doesn’t  _need_ to be ashamed or anything, and by now, this time in her life, she should know that better. So she parts her lips for the first appreciative-but-not-too-flirty thing she could think of, 

 

“Thank you..?” 

 

It wasn’t  suppose to be a question. Somewhere in her voice the confidence slipped and it peaked rather awkwardly. Paris snorts. She squeezes her eyes closed again. 

 

“God, I’m sorry, I’m so bad at this..” 

 

“You are.” Paris agrees, and then speaks gentler “But you don’t have to be sorry for it.” 

 

Sometime after that Paris announces how exhausted she is, as is Rory. The sheets get tugged back up and Paris lays down by Rory, an arm over waist and nose buried at the back of thick dark hair. Rory lies awake for seconds more, thinking. They might have to go get up soon, possibly shower off, but right now, it was nice to relax so close to each other. She marveled on the soft, bare skin pressed against her, Paris’s legs tangled with her own. She still felt a bit floaty and despite her embarrassment it _did_ feel good. 

 

Maybe Paris’s unwillingness to drop any high stakes presented to her wasn’t the worst. 

 

“Par?..” 

 

“Mm.” 

 

Rory shuffled in her spot, turning to her girlfriend, face to face. 

 

“..Thank you..for doing that..” Her arm was raised over the pillow, fingers finding themselves in blonde hair, brushing it away from her forehead “it-it was nice. As was the willingness to do that for me..” 

 

Paris smiled a bit. She leaned in with a “guess you’re getting  a little  better..”, and kisses her, after the both of them dozing off while nestled against the other.

 

They don’t get up to shower for  much longer then Rory thought Paris would let them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who don't enjoy as much NSFW-themed one-shots, feel free to say so, and I'll take that into account when writing the next one. As for the rest of you, I hope that wasn't awful!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> This idea was originally for a much bigger one-shot which would've taken place in the early season, Chilton era. But considering I'm trying to finish two other fics for y'all, starting another project and making you wait longer seemed like bad planning. So, I remodelled it and decided to put it here. Hope you like it :) Takes place in much later years, late twenties kinda thing.
> 
> Scene: Paris deals with Rory's somewhat infuriating infinity for books, and a very important question she has to ask her.

“Gilmore, no.” 

 

“Oh c’mon! Just a few minutes?” 

 

“‘A few minutes’?! Don’t try and bullshit me!” 

 

“Who says I was doing that?” 

 

“Rory, this is _bookstore._ Pretty much your second home. You’re going to go in there and then I’ll never hear from you again.” 

 

“I’m not that bad.” 

 

“Well it’s either that or you’re going to purchase a stack that’ll cost us a months rent.” 

 

“It’s a _used bookstore_ Paris. Even if I get a few it’ll only cost us about a nights’ in ordered take-out.”

 

Paris groaned, dragging her hands down her face. They were  suppose to be doing something. More specifically, they had dinner reservations in  half an hour.  Very fancy dinner reservations. Very fancy and  _very_ important. So fancy in fact, Paris knew the  restaurant would  _not hesitate_ to give away their reservations if they didn’t show up on time and she did  _not_ need that. But this does not  discourage Rory of course, who’s been begging to take Paris to this weirdly niche,  playing-hard-on-the-antique-aesthetic used bookstore she’s been going to.

 

“Par c’mon,” Rory eased in, taking her wrist “The restaurant is literally only a block away; I’m sure we can make it in thirty minutes. Plus, I’m not the only book nerd here; I know you’re at least a little interested after I’ve been talking about it...”

 

Rory starts grinning. Paris glowers in return. Or at least tries to, pretending like those baby blues and sweet, annoying charm didn’t have a chipping effect on her ice exterior. 

 

“C’mooonnnn..” She sings, tugging her hand slightly “Can’t you hear the books calling to us? Full of mystery and wonder – they’re lonely in there without a reader to share it with!” 

 

Paris had a feeling she wasn’t winning this one. Seven years in their relationship, she’s  _finally_ coming around to the idea she can’t win every single time, and has to give it to Rory under the term of ‘fairness.’ And they did have  some time.

 

“...Twenty minutes. And this better impress me.” She growled. 

 

Rory  brightened. She tightened her grip on Paris’s hand, and all but tugged them inside.

 

The store was nice, she guessed. Makes you feel a bit like Bastian as he stumbles into the dusty, magical bookstore that would then take him on the journey of a lifetime, but slightly modernized. Paris had never really found a great interest in used bookstores, in the context of regular  ones. You can never find what you want, the books are falling apart, and all she can think about as she picks up yet another book with thick layers of dust is that ninety percent of dust is skin cells. She already  had a hard time thinking about where  a textbook has been when she  was forced to pick one up from the library. 

 

Not great. 

 

Rory knows no difference. She excitedly totes Paris around; the shelves she’s been picking her new reading material  from  and the tiny tea slash coffee shop in the back that had various drinks names playing on famous book titles. She’s going on about how many different editions she’s already found here and she keeps stopping every other second to open a book to smell the old book smell. She’s in her own paradise. 

 

So it makes sense Paris loses her after only ten minutes.

 

All she did was go up to the shopkeeper in front to ask for the time. When she’d walked back to where she’d left Rory, the brunette had  disappeared.

 

“ _Where the hell_ – Rory?!”

 

Well this is perfect. Paris grumbles and lets out several  expletives,  left to retrace her steps. 

 

She makes her way through, around the towers of yellow-paged books and sagging shelves, the old hardwood creaking under her feet.  She sticks her hand in her coat pocket to double-check, relieved when she feels the small velvet box. God forbid she lose this. She’d been carrying it around for weeks, waiting on the right moment, the ideal time to ask possibly one of the biggest questions of either of their lives. Rory deserved no less. Unsurprisingly though, there hadn’t been a perfect moment; no romantic  setup for her to ask. And this is why it was vital they don’t miss their dinner reservations. Doing a fancy dinner was overdone and not the most ideal, but frankly, Paris was tired of toting this thing and sitting on her anxiety at asking. It just needed to be done. 

 

And she  didn’t want to miss yet another  opportunity and figure out  _another_ plan.

 

It took roughly  another  ten minutes  of searching but far, far in the back, sleuthing through some Shakespeare, there was Rory. And the stack of five different books cradled in her arms. 

 

“I knew it!” Paris pointed to the stack, stomping over “You have no self-control Gilmore!”

 

“They need homes!” Rory pleaded.

 

“And just where are you going to find space in your already obese-ly over-stuffed shelves?!”

 

“There’s still the bottom shelf left...I think..in the corner..”

 

Paris sighed, pinching her brow _“I just –_ I-I fail to understand this Rory, the need to collect books that not only people have _given away_ , but that no one has clearly wanted in twenty years or so! They’re just copies of stories you could _easily_ pick up from an actual bookstore – without the tears and overfolded corners and enough dust to cover yourself!”

 

“You’re such a book snob.” She scolds, but playfulness is still in her tone “It’s not about the physicality of them; it’s about the stories, and the stories _of_ those stories.”

 

“Do elaborate.” Paris asks, folding her arms. She really shouldn’t, because they only have about five minutes to get out of here, but her argumentative stubbornness has kicked in and not much can turn her around now.

 

Rory easily squares up, standing straighter, eager to give her points “Look, new books are great, but they’re lacking one thing used bookstores have – showing how much the book is _loved._ People act like how badly a book is marked up is a bad thing, but it’s actually the best thing.”

 

Paris furrows, not entirely following.

 

“See, here, I’ll show you,” She sets down her stack, pulling from it what looked like a book of poems and flipping through the pages “see all the highlighted passages? The dogeared corners? This was clearly someone’s favourite poetry book. They really loved it, took special notice of all the lines and stanzas that spoke to them. Maybe something happened to them, they passed and the book was given away, but for the moment it was really treasured.”

 

Paris squinted down at the faded pages, all the indicators written in. She hadn’t really thought of it like that. Before she could saw anything, Rory moved on, too excited to stop.

 

“And look, I found this!” She took out a short, thick, fiction book, many creases running up the spine “this one was gifted to someone, for a birthday, see?”

 

She showed the blonde the scribbled cursive on the front page, addressed by name with a little message that spoke that whoever was gifting it found the book very important when they were turning this age, and that they hoped it would help the receiver too.

 

“They loved the book so much, they wanted someone else to have the same experience reading it too.” Rory continued, eyes lit up and grinning “And that’s really the point, you know? The love of the story. They’re meant to be shared, to be loved, not just distributed. They can honestly change a person, make their lives better, and like, there’s nothing better then seeing that, seeing it so well cherished, whereas in a bookstore...”

 

Paris fades out, losing the words and left to gaze at Rory, slowly feeling a smile pulling over. Goddamn Rory Gilmore. Gorgeous Rory Gilmore, grinning wide and blathering on about her favourite love in the world – books. Her deep appreciation for and understanding of stories. Forcing Paris to look at them a way she hadn’t ever. She can’t stop smiling at her, her chest getting all warm. She loves her so much.

 

And right then, Paris knew. Knew, under the canopy of the thousands of books, the thing they often bond over the most, where she couldn’t imagine ever giving her heart to another person, was _the_ moment. That’s when, without even giving a pre-warning to herself –

 

“Marry me.”

 

Rory stopped dead. Waits, and then forms an odd smile, and quirks her eyebrow because obviously this had to be a joke.

 

“..I’m sorry, it sounded like you just asked me to marry you.”

 

“I did.” Paris says without a beat of hesitation “Marry me.”

 

Rory says nothing. Silence permeates, a confused pause stretching along. She starts to lose her smile because the longer the silence went on the more it showcased Paris wasn’t joking. To really prove that, Paris shoved her hand in her pocket, and slowly pulled out the palm-sized navy box.

 

Now Rory pales. She sucks in a breath, sharp, and leans back.

 

“ _Par..”_

 

“I had a plan you know.” Paris starts “What do you think that fancy dinner was for? In _fact,_ this has been sitting in my pocket for weeks! I keep thinking I’m going to run into the ideal moment to ask and it never happened or it wasn’t enough so I had to bite the bullet and just do a stupid dinner, even though it’s the most over used and boring way to go about it, and I even planned out the _steps_ , when at the point of the dinner I was going to ask and how to approach – I wrote a speech! I worked on it for a month!”

 

“Paris –”

 

“But of course, _of course,_ you derail me and somehow we ended up here in this dumb bookstore breathing in dust instead of enjoying fine dining and you completely tarnished my plans!” She trucks on, hands thrown up and sighing “..But now we’re here, and I’m looking at you, going on about books like the giant dork you are, and..I just love you so much. You’re the only one who gets as riled up as I do about about this stuff, but you also force me to look at the fact that it’s not the physicality as it is the story, and somehow I love you even more –”

 

“Hey Par –”

 

“and I practiced that speech every day and now I can’t remember _a damn thing_ I was suppose to say to you, but Rory, listen, you’re my best friend and the person I love above everyone, you suit me and if I can say so myself, I believe I suit you – you’re the one I want to be with for the rest of my life, and I-I know the idea of spending forever with me is no one’s favourite idea, but if you just let me convince you –”

 

A hand comes over her wrist and then Rory’s kissing her. Paris short circuits, taking a beat to catch up from being thrown off her feet. But she kisses her back, only for a second before Rory pulls away. Paris tried to find her bearings, blinking back at a surprisingly calm Rory, who’s gripping onto her hand and whose smile was leaking sunshine.

 

“..You don’t have to convince me.”

 

“...Is that a yes?..” Paris asks when she can find her voice. Rory laughs quietly, eyes crinkling at the sides.

 

“ _Yes.”_

 

Paris has only exuberantly happy for a very few times in her life. She can count them on one hand (embarrassingly, most of them included Rory). But she can say with confidence she’s never been this happy. Her cheeks hurt from how hard she’s smiling and she keeps going _really?!_ in this excited pitch and Rory’s smiling too as she answers, _really!,_ and if she doesn’t do something right now she’ll start crying, and that wasn’t going to help her much, honestly.

 

So she cups the pale cheek and kisses Rory much more feverishly then earlier. The kind of deep, sole-shaking kiss two would be expected to share after such a showcase of love. They don’t pull apart for a while, and when they do, neither knows what to say; leaning close, heavy exhales, too happy and excited and thrown from what happened, until Rory finally opens her mouth.

 

“..Are we going to talk about how we just got engaged in the middle of the _Shakespeare_ section, or?..”

 

Paris sighed deeply. There’s a light chuckle.

 

“I’d rather we didn’t. God forbid this becomes like one of those cutesy engagement stories they show at the end of a news segment for the feel-good portion. And don’t tell your mother either. We’ll never stop hearing about how this has come full circle.”

 

Now Rory’s laughing “..Alright, Romeo, you got a ring for me?..”

 

Paris can’t help her smile. She pries open the box, taking Rory’s hand to gently slide the silver band over her finger. The brunette gazed down at it, thumb smoothing over; the deep blue sapphires running up the sides, meeting the dazzling diamond in the middle. It was elegant, but not so overdone it was tacky, perfectly ridding the middle. Lorelai had helped Paris pick it out, after all (after Paris went to her, not looking for her _permission_ to marry Rory,but rather a blessing, and, for once in her life a second opinion, for the ring).

 

“..It’s beautiful Paris..” Rory was beaming, and it was clear, in the light coming off her, she genuinely did love it. Paris grinned.

 

“..It’s suiting then.” She leaned in, kissing the corner of the pink lips. After, she slid her hand down to Rory’s, starting to walk them out.

 

“Alright, now that we’ve officially screwed our dinner plans, I say we head back to the house to celebrate with take-out and not leaving the bed until the next morning..”

 

“..Okay, great, but..I wanted to check out the back shelf because last time they had some limited editions of Dickinson –”

 

“Oh my god, _Rory –”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tooth rotting enough for you? See you guys next time!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting too fluffy around here. Have some hurt/comfort. 
> 
> (P.S Happy pride month y'all! I wanna put up a pride-themed story next time, so be on the look-out for that!)
> 
> Scene: Paris and Rory deal with the aftermath of a car accident.

Rory wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting here. Too long, it felt. She’d just been staring up at the florescent lights, counting how many  of the  black dots trapped inside where potentially dead flies. For late at night, the hospital was fairly quiet, nothing but roaming nurses and the anti-bacterial smell passing by her in the hall. It was a good thing she was so inexplicably tired or she could’ve been incredibly  bored. That probably had to do a lot with  her throbbing head.

 

The car running the red was racing so fast it was amazing the driver of her cab dodged it at all, only getting clipped in the back. It’d happened in the flash of a second, where Rory was  simply finishing the final chapter of her latest book  in the back of the car  on her way home, then suddenly there was the loud noise of tires screeching, the hard  _thwack_ of the side of her head hitting the door, and then the next thing she knew she was waking up in emergency. 

 

She’s been incredibly lucky; both car accidents in her life, she’s walking away without barely a scratch. Apparently the driver reacted quickly enough that her being thrown against the door, in attempt to dodge the car, just gave her a concussion and nothing more. And not even a bad one at that; she was still a little hazy, seeing double of things, and was now restricted from doing too much of any physical activity for a while, but could recall her full name and who the current president is. 

 

Frankly, she was still trying to process the events, sat up on a gurney in the quiet hall holding an ice pack to her head that was turning her fingers numb. She was surprisingly lax about the whole thing. Though, she wouldn’t say she was at _ease;_ there was a gnawing at the bottom of her stomach, anxiety roaming around her, the sound of screeching tires on repeat in her head. Maybe it’s going to take a few more hours for it to sink in that this could’ve been much worse. Trauma takes it’s own time, after all.

 

For now, she’s waiting on  the doctor who’s supposedly coming over to do a more  thorough exam. She  feels slightly better after  just  getting off the phone  with her mom  who had to be talked  down from driving all the way in here; that she was really fine, they were going to be releasing her tonight anyway, and that  they’ll be seeing each other soon like they always do. After the concerned ramblings died down, Lorelai finally let her go, on the promise to call her tomorrow to be sure it’s everything’s fine and not to eat the hospital food because that’ll surely do more damage then a concussion. 

 

_I’m not really into jello that looks like solidified anti-freeze, so I’m good._

 

_Smart choice. But, wait, who’s coming to get you then?_

 

_It’s okay, the hospital called a closer emergency contact._

 

_Who?_

 

“Rory!” 

 

Rory turned her head as fast as she was able. Paris was pelting down the hall, headed straight for her and clearly more  distressed then Rory’s ever seen her, which is saying something. Rory drops the  ice  pack and shuffles down the gurney, trying to get down, met with more screaming from across the way. 

 

“ _What the hell happ_ – stop, wait, don’t move, stop it –”

 

“I can do it –”

 

Louder, more distressed, 

 

“You’re going to _hurt yourself again –”_

 

“I’m on the floor.” her sneakers hit the linoleum, fingers gripping the white sheets to steady herself “I just can’t move fast –” 

 

Paris is over her, arms around air tight and nearly knocking Rory over. It shouldn’t be a huge surprise. Paris always puts 110% of all her power into her actions, her hugs no different. She gripped you like she was afraid you’d wiggle away. Sometimes Rory wondered if it was because they were hard to come by when she was a child, that she never totally learned (but then she gets that stinging in the back of her throat, so she doesn’t wonder too long). 

 

This was the same intensity, yet altogether different. Rory can feel the nails digging into her sides, making dents. There’s ragged breathing by her ear. She can feel Paris shaking a little. Suddenly, the situation starts to dawn. She holds onto Paris in respect, chin nestled over the leather-jacket shoulder, waiting for the bomb to hit like it always does. But Paris waits, the pause in time of silence stretching on, just gripping onto Rory.

 

“Paris..–”

 

“What happened?!” Suddenly she whips away, hands locked around Rory’s wrists and sharp eyes. There it is. 

 

“I –”

 

“They _refused_ to give me any information over the phone, just saying ‘car accident’ as if that explained _anything_ and said you were in emergency care –”

 

“It –”

 

“And _christ,_ I’ve never seen a more incompetent staff!” She’s pointing wildly down the hall, flames in eyes “It took the receptionist ten minutes just to pull up your name, and they kept telling _me_ to calm down like I hadn’t just gotten a call that you were hit by a _car –”_

 

“I’m fine –”

 

“You are _not_ fine, you were in an accident! How the hell did you even manage this twice?!”

 

Rory sighed, feeling her head tighten even more “Some guy ran a red, hit the side of the taxi I was in.”

 

“What guy?! Are you going to sue?!”

 

“What?? No, why would I do that?”

 

“Because you were in an accident! An event that requires a bit more then the nonchalance you’re showing!”

 

“Well I feel like a broken collar or limb would only then qualify for a sueing –”

 

Surprising Rory, Paris threw up her hands in defeat. Normally she’d keep plowing forward but right now she’s pinching her brow and trying to breathe in steady, Rory furrowing at the scene. A long stretch of silence, and then,

 

“What’s the diagnoses then, what’re they saying??” A hard voice, cracking along the seams in a way Rory doesn’t miss. She presses her lips together, and then opened them to reply –

 

“I can help with that.” Both girls turned their heads, spotting the white-coat approaching them who’s looking to Rory – the doctor “Lorelai..?”

 

“Only if we’re being formal.” Rory took in a breath, saddling up “It’s just Rory.”

 

“Rory, sure. I understand some of our nurses came to give you a quick examination.” Rory nods “Great; I’m just here to give a more thorough treatment. Thankfully, it seems you’re only walking away with a concussion, and a mild one at that –”

 

“ _Only?!_ Who the hell says that?! And a concussion is a concussion, don’t try to sugarcoat it!”

 

Rory sighs again. The doctor squints over at Paris, trying to  reevaluate the seething look she was giving him. 

 

“...Are you a friend?” 

 

“I’m her _girlfriend.”_ Paris spits _“And_ a medical student, so don’t try to think you can bullshit me alright?! I know as well as you do concussions lead to memory loss, ongoing migraines, and potential brain damage if you’re lucky! Also I’ll need to see what exactly your ‘nurses’ have been looking for, especially if they’re as good as your receptionists, the results, your exact treatment plan..” 

 

and she’s off. Paris falls into a ranting of medial terms Rory has no hope of keeping up with, only getting more  adamant as she lists of each thing she wants to see checked and what they’re accounting for.  He tries to interrupt the flow but can’t get a word in edgewise, only becoming more and more distressed with floundering “um”s as Paris got in his face for each issue – until, finally, Rory, who knew this wasn’t going to let up,  frustratedly wedged herself in the middle.

 

“Okay, nope, shutting this down –”

 

“ _Gilmore –”_

 

“I’m cutting you off.” Rory gives her a sharp look, after returning to the doctor “Can you give us just like..five minutes?”

 

Frankly, he looked like he’d pay whatever he could just to get out of this conversation. He stumbled through an “of course..” and then was skittering away, Paris cursing him out as he left.

 

“Paris, okay, I’m going to need you to dial it down some if we ever want them to let us out of here –”

 

“Down?! Oh, well, god forbid I be concerned for your wellbeing Rory!” She’s fired up now, hands and arms waving “Honestly, what the hell is the matter with you?! Why are you being so lax?!”

 

“I dunno, nothing really happened –”

 

“Stop saying that, you were hit by a _car!”_

 

“But I’m fine –”

 

“But you could’ve not been!”

 

Rory stops. Evaluates Paris a second time. Again, this anger was different. This wasn’t the same I’m-running-on-100%-fire-power, I’m-determined-to-win-this-conversation energy Paris rattles with. Rory understood that anger, having been used to it for years now.

 

Right now Paris wasn’t angry for a victory, berating for a challenge. It’s missing it’s usual sarcasm, or at least a way in for Rory to find aplayful way to serve back. It’s too quiet. Rory looks closer, finding gloss over the brown iris’s. She’s scared. Scared and frustrated because Rory doesn’t understand the magnitude of what had happened and how it had effected her. Now the brunette looks away, swallowing thickly,

 

“Paris –”

 

“I can’t loose you.” 

 

She stops, again, unsure how to respond to that. Paris is doing what she does when she pretends she isn’t upset, lips pressed tightly together and folded arms curling around herself.

 

“I just, I can’t, I-I can’t go through that whole procedure.” She shifts her weight back and forth, for once avoiding direct eye contact “I-I don’t know how to live my life with you not in it.” 

 

There’s something heavy on Rory’s chest. She swallows again.

 

“Par..” 

 

“I know this must be hard for _you_ to imagine Gilmore, because you, you have people in your life. You have more then one best friend, you have a wonderful mother who’d actually feel something if you dropped off this planet, and even every damn nobody in that small town of yours! I’m not that vastly important in the context of all that – but for me?!” 

 

She points inwards, her pitch growing higher, her tears  slipping down. Not even trying to keep up a facade  of holding it together. Spiraling, as Rory knows it well.

 

“I have _you._ That’s it. You are my best friend, you’re my person – I-I don’t know how I’d go through losing my one person! You’ve been in my life so damn long I don’t really have a recollection of you _not_ being in it!” 

 

“Paris, I-I’m sorry –”

 

“And the _idea_ this ‘nothing’ accident could’ve been so much worse, could've taken you, I just..I..I can’t do that!! That can’t happen –”

 

“Okay, Paris, I’m sorry, I –”

 

“It can’t it can’t happen you can’t go alright _you can’t leave I love you you can’t go –”_

 

“Okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry..”

 

Rory finds her way through the tears and breaking cries to pull Paris into her again, this time her arms locking around much tighter. Paris grips on in return, nails into her back and cries pressed into her shoulder. All but collapses, holding so close the thing she might’ve lost.

 

They stay like that for a long time. Rory just gives Paris her moment, lets the tears lessen and the breathing return to normal. There’s stinging around her eyes and she has to blink it back. Slowly, Paris starts to pull away.

 

“..God,” She brings up her sleeve, wiping it over her cheek _“You_ were the one who was in an accident, and _I’m_ the one crying, this is disgusting..”

 

Despite it all, Rory laughs under her breath “S’ok – I..didn’t really consider how this must’ve seemed for you, and I’m sorry..”

 

“It’s fine..”

 

“It was just...thinking on what happened and that by the hand of fate, it wasn’t so much worse, wasn’t..you know...”

 

Her voice trails off quietly, another shaking sigh. Paris nods.

 

“I know..”

 

“..But, later on, at night, when I wake you up because what happened is stating to sink in and I can’t totally calm myself down..”

 

“I know how to make hot chocolate the way you like.”

 

Rory inexplicably smiles. Paris makes a much smaller one back, contrast to her streaked face.

 

“See?” The brunette holds up a hand to her “This is the other problem, about what you said; that you think you’re unimportant, that somehow I mean so much more to you then you do to me..”

 

“Well, I can argue with you later on the disproportions of how many people are in your life versus _mine,_ but right now I’ll take the compliment.” Paris shrugs off, because of course “And if that’s the case you’re making, maybe you can actually put yourself in my shoes right now instead of bypassing the whole thing.”

 

Rory tries. But then the idea of being told her girlfriend, this bizarrely weird yet amazing girl, who she loves not like anyone else and feels she’s known nearly all her life now, had almost been lost to the world made her stomach drop through the floor. She’s panicked enough to think she might be sick and Paris notices how her eyes pop.

 

“See?!”

 

“ _God,_ I’m so sorry –”

 

“At least you get it.” Paris scolds, but there’s a lightness to it. Rory smiles quietly back, and leans in, kissing the teary cheek.

 

After Paris ushers Rory up onto the gurney again, claiming she needs the rest, and obliged to sitting next to her as they waited for the doctor to come back. Rory rested against the blonde’s side with her head on her shoulder, sinking into the familiar warmth, eyes closing. Distantly, she hears Paris criticizing a nearby nurse who’s examining a patient’s broken arm, what was clearly poor technique and how she’s going to do much better in the name of medicine when she gets there.She can also feel Paris’s hand atop her thigh, thumb circling idly. Subtle, but certain. Letting her know she’s here in the characteristically un-mushy way.

 

Sighing contently, Rory falls asleep to the familiar berating, feeling her anxiety finally lifting – and, for the first time in the evening, safe.

 

Because if anything tried to get her for the second time today, it would have to get through Paris first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd tell you guys I'm going away on a short trip to the next update will take longer, but, this would be under the pretence that I update regularly and not after a week or so of waiting, so.......love you guys! Be good while I'm gone!
> 
> (P.S, again: Any and all medical facts presented here were written by a hypochondriac who was way too scared to google if they were true or not).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have returned! I know it's not like I went anywhere, but trust me I did (and I had a great time thank you, and on this trip even had the balls to tell a pretty girl I liked her (twice, technically) and I'm so proud of I'm telling pretty much everyone including you fellow gays). 
> 
> Anyway, I promised a pride themed one-shot, and I have delivered. I hope you like it, sometimes it just felt like I was rambling my way through it. This does include characters I had in my 'something wonderful' series, but it's not super vital to know who exactly they are, so hope that's okay. 
> 
> Scene: On the brink of Pride, Rory deals with her feelings on her sexuality.

Rory awkwardly shuffles her weight on the tiny, old wooden stool, hearing it creek sadly inside the closet. The last thing she really needed was for it to collapse on her. She sighed, staring down at the coloured pin in her hand, which was suppose to be on her jacket. Yet she couldn’t get there.

 

Outside, she could hear the organized chaos, the shouting and laughter and furious finishing of posters and crafts. Yale’s GSA had been hard at work for a month now; they’d been invited out to the town’s pride parade, to march no less, and so a lot of effort had gone into the making of banners and posters. Rory, along with Paris who’d as usual pushed her into being in charge, as active members had been helping out, running trips to print t-shirts and Paris lending her craft supplies, even having quite a bit of fun with it with their friends.

 

But now it’s the day of. And it’s suddenly come to smack Rory across the face with sudden anxiety that she didn’t belong here.

 

Rory was not an agenda carrier; she was out, but she was _not_ loud. And you could even make an argument for proud. It’d all been exciting at first; her first pride, wearing a shirt that read ‘bi and ready for pie’ (courtesy of Lorelai, who’d been more then upset she was only getting to celebrate in spirit) and getting a special place of holding up the Yale banner. Now, with the realness of the rainbow glitter and 80’s CD playing, cold feet had sunk in and she’s snuck away to hide in the janitor’s closet. However, it was only a matter of time before someone –

 

The door ripped open, and before Rory could panic, Paris stampeded inside. She slammed the door closed, giving her girlfriend a certain look.

 

“There you are!” She pointed down at Rory, furrowing “What’re you doing in here – you left me alone without a defense!”

 

“Defense?”

 

Paris growled, spitting out some curses under her breath “..I swear to god, if Violet, that menace, tries to get near me again with the paint and glitter..”

 

“I know.” Rory turns her head, pointing to the small, pink purple and blue heart painted on her cheek “What do you think this is from?”

 

Paris shutters. A beat, and then she squares herself up, staring down at the brunette with folded arms.

 

“Can I ask what you’re doing in here then? Are you also trying to escape a glittery fate?”

 

Rory sighs again, gaze dropping down to the marked up floor “I-I dunno, do..don’t you feel weird, about this?..”

 

“What? About the glitter?”

 

“About...this!” Rory gestures outwards, assumedly towards the prideful planning the closed door was blocking “About the whole rainbow smattering, we’re-here-we’re-queer, thing...”

 

She’s met with silence, a rarity. Paris pauses thoughtfully, shifting her weight. After she walks up to Rory in her seat, motioning her to make room. Rory shuffles as far as she can without falling off, watching Paris dust off the marked up stool seat with her sleeve, sitting next to her.

 

“Well, we are the last people to willingly join in on loud parading and noise making, with a side of partying and binge drinking. So I wouldn’t be surprised if you felt out of place.”

 

“It’s not so much that; I can handle a drink, and I made sure to secure a spot in the back for banner toting. It’s more that I...I just..I don’t think I belong, you know?”

 

Paris only squints back “..I don’t think I do..”

 

Rory huffs “It just seems like...this whole pride thing was made for someone who actually gets it. Who actually _knew_ they were gay; sensed it early on, used to hide secret valentines to the other girls in their class, always wondered why they liked the female characters best. You know? The story you actually hear..”

 

“You never wondered why you liked Buffy best?”

 

Rory rolled her eyes. She was going to regret telling Paris that for the rest of her life, honestly.

 

“Everybody liked Buffy; she was the main character, doesn’t count.” She shrugged off “But really, sometimes I feel like I’m faking it...”

 

“Faking it???” Paris sputtered, face scrunched in an expression somewhere between shock and possibly insult.

 

“Yeah – don’t you..? I mean, we came to the party so late..”

 

“I dunno Gilmore, I’m too concerned with the fact that _my girlfriend_ might be faking her feelings –”

 

“Not for you dummy.” She cuts off with a sigh, eyes squeezing shut “I’m talking about my feelings for _girls_ – my feelings for you are a 100% there.”

 

“They’d better be.” Paris huffs, the defensiveness Rory knows is there to deflect how secretly worried she was “Otherwise we’ve wasted a lot of time with this..”

 

“Trust me.” Rory leaned in, kissing the blonde’s cheek “I like you and I want you – I mean, no one else is going to listen to me dissect the book of Shakespeare sonnets I’m rereading, and then later go into Buffy’s season two character arc, and actually understand both times.”

 

Paris scoffs, smile pulling up at the side. Rory smiles quietly back.

 

“..I dunno, I’m just rambling. But really, I guess if I was going to talk to anyone about not feeling gay enough, it shouldn’t be the girl who’s sitting like _that.”_

 

Paris glances down at herself as Rory gestures, where she’s sat, slouched, elbows resting on knees, and legs spread wide. She opens her mouth, and then just closes it, throwing up her hands.

 

“I’ve been hanging out with the lesbians too much, I don’t know what to tell you..”

 

“Yeah, sure.” Rory teases “Not the fact that ever since we got together, you’ve been more at ease then you’ve ever been.”

 

“...Make sense Gilmore.”

 

“Well not to toot my own horn, but it just seems like, I dunno, once we figured us out and did the whole gay awakening thing, you’ve just..been more at home with yourself, or whatever..”

 

“Well, turns out it helps to be in a relationship with someone who already knows you well.” Paris mused, a beat “..It also helps to be in a relationship with someone you’re attracted to.”

 

Rory snorts, half a laugh “Shocker.”

 

“Mm. I suppose..I can’t relate because once I realized I was gay, the whole appeal of relationships suddenly..made sense. I always thought they were something you did, not something you enjoyed. Same with liking men; I always assumed everyone was as miserable as I was. Turns out, I was just a raging lesbian.”

 

“That would explain why you’d ever like someone like Tristan.”

 

“God, that moron is going to remain one of my biggest regrets..” She muttered, making her girlfriend chuckle “I guess I don’t feel uncertain because finally, like you said, I am at home with myself. I never realized how your sexuality makes up who you are until I understood mine. And, as...awful, it is to say it like this, I _am_ proud, to have realized and to be myself. And knowing everyday I secretly disappoint my mother in her fantasy that I’ll marry some upperclass asshole and give her grandchildren by instead being the angry, man-hating lesbian that I am.”

 

Rory’s laughter develops, head ducking down to hide her grin “There are some perks, I guess. See, I’ve always liked guys too, so I never felt like anything was missing, as the fact I just, maybe, paid extra attention to girls. But I thought everyone noticed how pretty girls were, so..”

 

“So did I.” Paris challenged, sharp eyes holding Rory’s “..Doesn’t sound like you’re too far off.”

 

The brunette only sighs, turning away. Uncertainty continued to lurk on her shoulders, unable to be shaken. She fiddled with the button, flipping it between her fingers. Paris reached in, pushing away her fingers to get a good look at it.

 

“What even is this?..” She pointed it up, seeing the front, stripes of pink purple and blue again with the phrase ‘bi-certain’ on it. Paris raised an eyebrow.

 

“It’s um..bi-certain, instead of, you know, bi-curious. Violet gave it to me.”

 

“Of course she did.”

 

“Except, the only thing I _don’t_ feel is certain..” Rory sighs.

 

“Look, listen Gilmore,” Paris shuffled towards the other girl, her no-nonsense taking place “this whole being gay thing isn’t a competition, and you don’t need to treat it as such.”

 

“….I’m sorry, did _you_ of all people tell me not to treat something like a competition?”

 

“Yes. You’ve told me it enough times, that I’m taking your advice now.” Paris shot back, and Rory couldn’t really argue out of that one “Because if I don’t see it that way, then there’s absolutely no need for you to. Nobody out there is sizing up how gay you are; nobody is going to demand you announce your love for women. You don’t have to measure up to everyone’s queerness – and even if they made you, you don’t _owe it_ to anyone either. You say you’re bisexual. You’re bisexual. And it’s not up to others to denounce you or decide where you fit in when you already do.”

 

Rory finally glanced up from where she was starring through her converse. Paris never wavered in her gaze, searing through, very well pushing her to understand. It’s funny how the roles could reverse sometimes. For all the anxieties Paris goes through (and subsequently puts Rory through), she could also be perfectly pragmatic, the cut-to-the-chase no bullshit confrontational way that balances Rory’s avoidant nature. She feels her stiffened stance melt a little, running over the blonde’s words. She knows Paris is right, it’s just that –

 

She reaches forward, taking the button from Rory’s grasp. She leans in, fingers on the collar of the signature blue jean jacket, fidgeting until she gets the pin through the fabric, securing it.

 

“There. That should settle it.” Paris declares, adjusting the collar as the pin hung there, well, proudly, eyes back to Rory’s “..You’re here. You’re queer. Get used to it Gilmore.”

 

Now, a smile finally cracks over Rory. She then closes the millimeter of space between them, kissing Paris ( _“thank you.”_ ). She feels a slight smile press against her, Paris kissing back with the same enthusiasm. Rory doesn’t doubt that later on she’ll hear Paris’s gloating that for once, she, was the one talking down the anxiety and got Rory back on her feet, but that’s something to worry about later.

 

Right now, it’s pride. So she’ll kiss her girlfriend all she wants.

 

Until the door slams open again. They both spin back, finding Cam there in her signature docs and a rainbow tank. She raised a brow, and then called back over her shoulder to the group.

 

“I found them! They’re making out. Literally in the closet.” She gave them a bemused look, head titled “..You guys are doing this pride thing _very_ wrong.”

 

“S’ok – I think I got it now.” Rory rose with a smile, taking Paris’s hand in hers and squeezing “Let’s go be gay.”

 

“That’s the spirit Gilmore.” Cam grinned. Just then, behind her, there was a flash of colour and dark hair, and suddenly Violet was peering inside.

 

“Hey, there you guys are! Look, Paris, I found more of the body glitter, and if you let me –”

 

“Violet I swear to god if you take one more step –”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy pride y'all! Go out there and be as queer as possible, and I'll see you next time.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hi.
> 
> Honestly, I hate doing this to y'all; that, every once and a while I just drop off the face of ao3 for a couple months and then suddenly appear right after like nothing happened, like a gopher coming out of hibernation, and then having to explain it all to you. TBH I think I just go full pelt for a long while writing stuff, and then I get exhausted and need a couple months away to recharge.
> 
> But I hate that I'm constantly doing it you guys, bc y'all are so great, so sweet and supportive, especially you handful of people who come back every time I post something to say something nice. This is why I wanted to give you guys a tiny story for now, for all your patience; I actually do have something I wanna post (and I s2g this time I do mean it and I will post it), but it's a monster (you'll see when I post it) and been kinda difficult to finish. But it's only about a scene or two from being done, so hopefully that'll be soon - but for now, before reaching that point, I wanted to give you something in the meantime!
> 
> I went back to re-read some of these one-shots, and I re-read a comment on the first chapter by fellow gellmore warrior and overall nice person @MrSchimpf, who said they'd love to see a following one-shot where Paris got her revenge, so viola! I'm here to fulfill your wishes!
> 
> Enjoy!

This had to happen at some point.

 

Paris has never let go of anything in her life. Rory doesn’t even think she knows the meaning of the phrase. So it goes without a doubt, she’d get her just rewards. And it had been enough time in between, a couple weeks now, for Rory to have forgotten about it entirely.

 

She wasn’t thinking about much else really and that was all do in part of what she’s holding.

 

Rory could honestly not be more excited. It’s the latest release in one of her favourite fiction trilogy’s – and now, after three long painstaking years of not knowing the cliff hanger ending and what the characters chose to do, she gets to know. Excited doesn’t even cut it. She’s been checking off the days on her calendar. She’s cleared her entire day for this. She waited two hours in line today outside the bookstore to get a copy.

 

She’s on a whole other level at this point.

 

So, after coming from the long two hour line, she rushed her entire way home and burst right through the door. Paris, who was at the table doing exam prep, threw her head up to the brunette frantically throwing off her jacket and shoes.

 

“You’re back. How was –”

 

“I got it!” Rory yells in triumph, hurrying over to show Paris the book “See?! All the words and the title and all the secrets I’ve been waiting to know for three years.”

 

“And it only took you two hours to get it.” The blonde remarked dryly, her eyes lowering down Rory until they landed on the skirt currently wrapped her legs, brow bunching in interest “..Since when do you wear skirts like this, by the way?”

 

“What?” Rory looked down at herself, her t-shirt and the black skirt that ended around mid-thigh; now that it was nearing the end of spring, the weather was actually nice enough to get away with this sort of thing “Oh, I dunno, it’s old I think..”

 

Paris’s fingertips fiddle with the edges of the skirt “I’ve never seen it before..”

 

Rory hmms, too busy already taking a sneak peek at the first page of the first chapter, hardly noticing Paris fingers brushing her thigh.

 

“Yeah, it might be mom’s actually or something..”

 

Paris clicks her tongue, gaze not leaving the exposed skin “Looks good on you..”

 

“Thanks.” Rory waves off, closing the book “Well, gotta go! I’ve got three year old questions I need answered.”

 

“What? But I thought you were only picking it up today –”

 

“Can’t talk. Book.” Rory just barreled right by her girlfriend, headed straight for the bedroom.

 

“But –”

 

“Nope.”

 

“Rory –”

 

“Look, unless you’re the name on the cover here,” Rory held up the book, pointing to the author name on the bottom “then I’m not interested in what you’re saying. I’m on twenty-four hour book lockdown. I will not be accepting any talks, texts, calls, postcards or messages in bottles at all during this period.”

 

“What about messenger pigeons?”

 

“Bye!”

 

Paris rolls her eyes, throwing up a hand, but it wasn’t like it mattered to Rory though, who just plops herself right on the bed – though not before turning off her phone, laying back in the most comfortable position of pillows and blankets she’s brought, and put out the bags of snacks she left there earlier in preparation. Game time.

 

Until, about two hours later. From nowhere, she’s pulled out of her immersive book universe by Paris hovering over the bed.

 

“Are you aware you’ve been sitting there for two hours?”

 

More or less. And Rory had been loving every minute of it. She merely hmm’d back, flipping the page. Paris folds her arms.

 

“Or the potential health problems you’re bringing on by sitting in the same position for hours?”

 

Another “hmm.” A huff in response. Then a pause.

 

“….I finished my test prep.”

 

Rory didn’t look up “That’s nice.”

 

“It is.” Another pause “..So, I was kind of hoping this break thing could be mutual.”

 

Rory said nothing. Rather, she furrowed down at the page because the main character is about to reject the marriage proposal of her love interest even though he’s _perfect_ for her and in the book prior she had every intent to be with him –

 

“ _Rory –”_

 

“Paris did you not hear what I said about book lockdown?”

 

At that Paris stomps her foot, huffing “Gilmore, I’ve hardly seen you all week! In between the lasts of exam season, we’ve practically become estranged in our own apartment from having no time together.”

 

“We could be estranger. Now shush.”

 

Another huff, growing stronger. Rory feels the bed dip down at Paris leans her knees onto it, crawling over and hovering before her girlfriend who’s laid down on her back trying to pretend she’s not there.

 

“In your _two hours,_ I’m just asking you to give me just a _minute_ of your precious time..” Now, Rory notices hands gently sliding up, grasping the ends of her skirt again, and, if she’d been paying attention, how Paris’s voice changes octaves “..We haven’t had any sort of time together and now you come home in –”

 

“Paris if I hadn’t spent the last three years waiting for the bated moment I can be reunited with my love of these characters, I’d be all for _whatever_ it is you’re suggesting, but sadly for you three years is a _very_ long time to wait. And I know you’re unfamiliar with the idea but if you could please quiet down –”

 

“Are you telling me you’re putting a fictitious story of made up people you’ll never meet over your actual relationship with a real live person?”

 

“Do you know me at all? Now, I’m requesting no more words or grunts or huffs of annoyance past this point –”

 

“Gilmore you know I love you for all your bookish ways even if they border on the ridiculous like owning twelve different covers of the same book or celebrating fake characters birthdays –”

 

“Par –”

 

“but I think trying to power through a book that isn’t for a late-night study session, until you finish, is going to melt your eyeballs and turn you into a hermit –”

 

“Paris –”

 

“and frankly, who’s to say I won’t just take it out of your hands? I may be shorter but you have about as much scrap as a doormouse and I’m convinced one swipe will land me victorious –”

 

“ _Paris!”_ Rory bolted up, now nearly face to face to show her glare “For the love of my sanity, _for once in your life,_ can you please learn to just be quiet and not say every single thing that comes to your mind?! I swear, once I’m done I’ll pay attention to you, but if you can just use your hardcore concentration into not talking, then I can finish my book and we can both come out of this happy!” 

 

At that, ending with her own huff,  Rory flopped back into her  cushions. And for one of the few times in her life, Paris was stunned into silence. She,  surprisingly, said nothing,  and Rory is honestly shocked that worked because in most case, telling Paris off like that is just like spraying a fire with gasoline. Rory feels her shuffle around, thinking she must be getting off the bed, which was great, so she moves back to the last sentence she left off on, the main character now  telling the love interest why she can’t be with him, and Rory still doesn’t see it, but she’s interested in how that’ll play out in the next couple of chapters, especially since –

 

She gasps, pulling back slightly from Paris who’s suddenly in between her legs, who also looks back up, lips glistening and what _had_ been the underwear Rory was wearing scrunched in her hand. (Wow. She really _does_ get deep into a book). 

 

“..What?” Paris asked, expression completely indifferent but a definite smugness Rory, this time, does _not_ miss leaking out of her voice “I’m being perfectly quiet Gilmore, you won’t hear me say a word.”

 

Rory furrowed but Paris didn’t fold, happily leaning  her head  back down  under the skirt  and giving her girlfriend no choice. Well, she did technically have one; Rory could give in, toss the book away – but the  _one thing_ she’s never done in all her years knowing Paris, is give in to her ever. And she wasn’t particularly loving the idea of not only giving Paris her revenge, but letting her have this when she’s been waiting  _three years_ for this book.

 

So she lays back. She tries to give her full attention to the book like before, but now she knows Paris is there; can feel, slowly, her tongue carefully lap over her, can feel her own body getting warmer and her stomach tightening, trying to hold onto the words on the page, but then Paris, who was so annoyingly keeping her word and not saying a single thing, moved up an inch and circled her lips around – 

 

Rory inhales sharp, eyes falling closed. She swears she can feel Paris’s smirk  pressing against her. There’s a beat of silence, a silent asking of what was going to happen now, who was going to wave their white flag. Rory angrily bit into her lip, hand curling into a fist. Then, she lays down her book on the bed and weaves her fingers into Paris’s hair. 

 

“I hate you..” 

 

There’s a light, victorious chuckle.

 

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it my love.” Paris now pushed up the skirt a little, and spread the pale legs “..Also, give me fifteen minutes, and you won’t hate me anymore.” 

 

Rory was still irked, but admittedly, fifteen minutes later, she was slightly  less so.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it! I promise, I'm gunna be back to give you that aforementioned story sometime soon (and in the meantime, you're welcome to come bother me on tumblr, @paris-geller-was-straightwashed - you know, hold me accountable to my promises).

**Author's Note:**

> If that was at all good for you, let me know. Catch you guys later for more :)


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